


Double Play

by sodium_amytal



Category: Rush (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. R30 era. Retired Blue Jays second-baseman Alex Lifeson just wanted a normal, fun-filled honeymoon with his husband Geddy. But when Alex gets a call from Neil Peart, his son’s pro-ball coach—and long-ago all-star of the St. Louis Cardinals—things start to go sour. Alex is quickly drawn into an investigation that brings back memories of the sport he and Neil both played. But Neil doesn’t want Alex poking around in the past, and as Alex unravels the mystery he stumbles upon a deadly secret that some are willing to kill to keep hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Play

_July 30_ _th_ _, 2005_

"Good morning, Mr. Lifeson," Alex yawns into Geddy's hair, lazily draping an arm around his waist and tucking him up against his own chest.

Geddy—Alex's boyfriend of 22 years, and, as of yesterday, his husband—huffs a laugh and snuggles closer, nestling into the curve of his body. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

Alex grins. "Nope."

Geddy wriggles in Alex's embrace. "I suspect you're not letting _me_ go either."

Alex's hand sneaks underneath the blankets and finds Geddy's own, toying with the ring on his third finger. "This means you're stuck with me, Ged. For better or worse."

"Oh no, what have I done?" Geddy deadpans, entwining their fingers. Alex sighs happily and savors the warmth.

Alex kisses the naked slope of Geddy's neck, his mouth finding the marks he made last night in this same bed. Geddy whimpers and wriggles against him, awakening Alex's already-hard cock. Alex groans, grinds his hips forward for more friction.

"Didn't you get enough of that last night?" Geddy wonders.

Alex snickers against Geddy's skin as his mouth trails to his shoulder. "Nope." He nudges his hips into Geddy's ass for good measure, and he grins at the way Geddy sort of gasps and startles like he's been jolted with an ice cube. Twenty-two years together and he's still scandalized by Alex's dick.

"How are you not exhausted?" Geddy asks.

"There are two popular theories: one, after ten years playing professional baseball, I developed an almost inhuman stamina. Or two, I'm a horny old man, and I'll never get enough of you." Alex nips at Geddy's shoulder, no doubt creating a new blemish there.

Geddy inhales a sharp sound and bucks his hips into the insistent wall of Alex's body. "Well, the 'horny old man' part is certainly believable."

"Hey," Alex whines, feigning offense.

"But I'm not as young as I used to be. Did you ever consider I might not be able to keep up with your 'inhuman stamina'?"

Alex can just _hear_ the air-quotes there. "You've done a bang-up job so far. And I mean that in every possible way."

Geddy turns over so he's facing Alex. He is so goddamn beautiful, and Alex wonders what the hell he ever did to deserve him. "For the sake of my own aging body, we should probably invest in getting you a vibrator."

Alex grins. "Well, my birthday's coming up..."

Geddy laughs and covers his blushing face with his hands. He primarily does this when he's said something particularly risque and Alex one-ups him, and Alex has never stopped finding it endearing.

Alex gently pulls Geddy's hands away to kiss the ring on his finger. "You're only as old as you feel, Ged."

"Some days I feel a hundred years old."

"Wow, you look fantastic for a hundred! What's your secret?"

Geddy pouts at him, like he doesn't enjoy Alex's immature charm.

Alex rolls onto his back and brings Geddy with him. "C'mon, don't be such a fuckin' downer on our sort-of honeymoon. You know I'm crazy about you. If I wasn't, I wouldn't've married you after twenty years."

"Twenty-two years."

"Proving my point."

Geddy rolls his eyes as a formality and repositions himself between Alex's legs.

Slowly, Alex pulls his legs in, careful not to jostle his bad knee. His left knee always creaks and aches in the morning, the side effect of a freak accident during the final game of the '87 World Series. Even after reconstructive surgery and physical therapy, his knee never recovered enough for him to play again.

"Be careful," Alex warns, teasing. "I'm fragile."

"Don't I know it." Geddy glides a hand along the length of Alex's leg, and Alex is already blindly reaching for the bottle of lube on the night table.

"Please," Alex huffs desperately, already tempted to get a hand around his own cock just to stave off the greedy thump of arousal, at least until Geddy gets his dick or his fingers slippery.

Geddy's hands are warm and slow and sure, but he's taking his sweet fucking time touching Alex in the places he needs to be touched. Alex opens his mouth to complain when his cell phone rings.

"Shit," he grumbles, because Geddy's hands have stilled and he's watching Alex with a curious expression.

"Answer it."

"On our sort-of honeymoon?"

"It might be important."

Alex throws his arms out across the bed like he's trying to fly. "Why do I even have voicemail?"

Geddy tosses him a pleading look. "What if something happened to Adrian and he's trying to get in touch with us?"

Alex knows arguing with Geddy is a losing game when it comes to the subject of their children. He huffs loudly to demonstrate how inconvenienced he is and fumbles for the phone on the night table.

The voice on the other end of the line is bright, perky, and belongs to Nancy Young, probably the top female sports reporter in the country. "Alex? I heard you got married."

"You heard right. Lemme guess, you want a 'scoop'? I love it when you reporters say that."

"More like an exclusive. I know you don't do a lot of interviews anymore, so let's take this shot and make it count."

Geddy slides off the bed and finds his clothes discarded on the floor from last night. Alex pouts as Geddy's perfect ass disappears into his underwear. "I hope you know your little phone call cost me a round of morning sex," Alex grumbles into the phone.

Geddy blushes and whines, "Why would you say that?"

If Nancy hears Geddy's protestations, she doesn't mention it. "It's your honeymoon, right? You'll have more. C'mon, this is big news. One of baseball's greats uses the legalization of gay marriage to announce his homosexuality? You seriously doubt the public's interest in this kind of stuff."

"I don't like talking about my private life," Alex sighs. "And doing an interview will just make it look like I got married as a publicity stunt."

"You know I won't sensationalize it," Nancy promises, and Alex trusts her. During the last couple years of his baseball career, Nancy was the only reporter Alex would talk to. "C'mon, it'll be fun. We can go to dinner, and you can even bring Geddy."

"Ah, food. My ultimate weakness."

"I thought my dick was your ultimate weakness," Geddy says with flushed cheeks, stepping into his sweatpants.

Alex laughs, and this time Nancy says, "Will you tell him I heard that?"

"Gladly!"

It takes a minute or two of useless waffling, but eventually Alex agrees to an interview tonight at The Orbit Room, a restaurant he co-owns with Geddy. Alex hangs up the phone and beckons Geddy away from fussing with the curtains. "Get back here. You have husbandly duties to fulfill."

Geddy just smirks and ties back the drapes, letting the late morning light flood into the room. From the window, Alex can see the distant shimmer of Lake Ontario. "'Husbandly duties'? Well, aren't you full of it?" He slinks to the bed and pulls away the blankets so he can settle between Alex's open legs.

"I'd rather be full of you."

"You'll have to settle for second-best," Geddy says, getting his fingers slippery with lube before pushing two slick digits inside of him. Alex moans and lifts his hips and thinks there's nothing second-best about this at all.

* * *

  _May 1983_

Alex first met Geddy in February when someone stole his Porsche. Geddy was the Toronto Police Service detective sent to investigate and file the report. The two hit it off pretty well, mostly because Alex got him laughing with a low-brow 'private dick' joke that Geddy must have heard a million times before, but he laughed as though it was the first time he ever heard it.

The Porsche was found days later, stolen by an overzealous fan, but Alex could hardly care about the car now that he couldn't stop thinking about the dry-witted detective. So he offered Geddy tickets to any game he wanted, an offer which Geddy accepted a few times throughout the start of the season.

By the time May rolled around, Alex had a full-blown crush on the guy. Geddy's phone calls requesting tickets had evolved into long talks about non-sequitur topics that made both of them laugh. So when Alex invited Geddy to meet after a game one evening, he was understandably nervous.

Geddy met him outside the locker room as Alex emerged, freshly showered. Alex's heart tripped over its beats, and a smile spread on his face.

"What're you smiling about?" Geddy teased. "You lost the game."

Alex shrugged. "You showed up." That felt like he said too much, exposed some secret part of himself, because he wasn't even sure if Geddy liked men _that way_ or not. Yeah, maybe he should dial it down a notch. "And there'll be more games. You can't win 'em all."

Geddy didn't argue with that. Alex led them out of the nearly empty stadium through the players' entrance. "I don't see a ring on your finger," Alex said, both making conversation and fishing for clues as to Geddy's sexuality. "You're not married?"

"No."

"You got a girlfriend?"

Softer now. "No."

"Boyfriend?" Alex looked at Geddy, reading his reaction to determine how to play that comment. If Geddy seemed offended, Alex could write it off as a joke. If not, well... Maybe he'd have a chance.

Geddy huffed a quiet laugh—everything about him was quiet, it seemed—and gave him a wry smile. "Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking me out?"

Alex opened his mouth, closed it, did his impression of a dying fish for a moment, eliciting another laugh from Geddy.

"They don't call me 'private dick' for nothing," Geddy said, and Alex chuckled, his heart racing at the prospect of Geddy saying yes to a date. After all, Alex was a baseball player in his prime and good-looking to boot. What kind of ridiculously high standards would Geddy have to have to say no?

"Well, Mr. Dick, you wanna go to dinner with me?"

Geddy smiled sadly, and Alex felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've—Forget it," Alex stammered, attempting to backpedal his way out of this embarrassing shitshow. He hurried to the door like a deep-sea diver racing toward the water's surface.

Geddy kept pace with him as he exited the building. "It's not you, Alex. I like you a lot."

Alex studied his face, and he could see the struggle there of Geddy trying to hold his gaze despite the way his cheeks reddened like a cherry.

"For my sake, could you please be a little more creative than 'it's not you, it's me'?"

Geddy fished through the pockets of his jeans for a creased, worn pack of cigarettes. "The thing about clichés is sometimes they're dead-on." He leaned against the wall of the stadium while he lit up, and Alex did likewise, anticipating an explanation.

When one didn't come, Alex spoke up. "So, what's the deal? You turn into a werewolf on a full moon?"

Geddy made a quiet noise of laughter. "No." His hand shook as he lifted the cigarette to his lips. He took a long, slow drag before breathing out a smoky breath. "My father died before I was a teenager. When I was away at college, my mother was killed."

Just talking about this looked like it tore him up, and Alex almost told him to stop, but Geddy kept going. "I've lost every single person I care about. The kind of things I see on this job, the horrible things people do to each other... Life is so fleeting, so fragile, so easily lost. If you love someone, you have to be prepared to lose them. And I can't—I can't lose anyone else."

That was some pretty heavy shit to dump on a guy before a first date, but Alex liked Geddy's honesty and wanted to fill the empty spaces in his life, or at least offer something bright and warm and good to combat the gloominess. "But you've survived every single horrible thing that's happened to you," Alex said in a gentle voice, matching Geddy's own.

Geddy's brow furrowed, as though he'd never thought about it that way before. He took another drag off the cigarette.

"You have friends, right?" Alex asked.

"A few."

"And you care about them? In some ways, friendship is a lot like love. At least the right friendships. So you're kinda half-assing this lone wolf thing. Which, by the way, lone wolves usually end up dying early because they don't have the support of a pack, which is sort of vital to their survival."

Geddy pouted his perfect lips around his cigarette and shot Alex a curious look.

"I read a lot of National Geographic on plane rides," Alex explained. "But I get it. I don't wanna be pushy, I just... I can't wrap my brain around someone being happy while being so lonely, I guess."

Geddy stared at him for a moment, and Alex wondered what he saw. "Did you want me to meet you after the game so you could ask me out?"

"Yeah, that was my plan." Alex pushed a hand through his damp hair. "I didn't really have a plan B, so maybe I should just leave so this doesn't get even more awkward."

Geddy took Alex's left hand in his own and studied it. "You're married," he said, frowning at the silver ring on Alex's third finger.

Alex thought about teasing an explanation as incentive for Geddy to say yes to the date, but Geddy deserved to know what he was getting into first. "I'm—We're not—It's mostly for show. Charlene's already met someone else. It's just..." Alex took his hand back and rubbed his neck. He looked around and dropped his voice. "It's easier to hide that I'm gay if I'm married to a woman."

"But you got married before your major-league career."

Alex blinked.

Geddy smiled at the surprise on Alex's face. "Did you think I wouldn't do a bit of research on you?"

Alex plucked the cigarette from Geddy's fingers. Geddy didn't argue or try to grab it back, so Alex figured it was safe to take a puff. "You're right. But I didn't... I was young and afraid of my feelings. I thought I'd start liking girls eventually. Charlene was my friend, and we liked each other enough. We both wanted a family, so we started one."

"Does she know?"

Alex nodded and took another drag before handing the cigarette back to Geddy. "We decided to stay married until one of us got serious enough with someone else."

"What about your kids?" It seemed very sweet for Geddy to be concerned about Alex's childrens' well-being.

"I'm not home often enough for sole custody, so Charlene'll get that. But I do what I can. They stay with me during the off-season." Alex suddenly felt inadequate for reasons he wasn't really sure of. Maybe all of this was a horrible idea. He wet his lips and shook his head. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. I'll just—Yeah..."

Alex was about to walk away when Geddy asked, "Where?"

"Say what?"

"Where would you take me? If we—if we went on a date."

"Anywhere you want."

Geddy puffed on his cigarette, seemingly debating the pros and cons of this before dropping the butt onto the concrete and saying, "Alright. Let's go."

* * *

_July 31_ _st_ _, 2005_

The interview makes the sports section of the Toronto Star the next morning, which Alex learns when he staggers bleary-eyed into the kitchen and Geddy already has the paper spread out across the dining table. With mounting dread, Alex enters the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. "How bad is it?"

Geddy knows Alex isn't talking about the coffee. "It's not bad. You know Nancy wouldn't throw us under the bus, otherwise you wouldn't have agreed to the interview in the first place."

"I know, but who knows what an editor might have done to it."

"Just read," Geddy says, pushing the paper toward Alex when he sits across from him.

Alex takes a deep breath and reads the article:

_Former Blue Jays second baseman Alex Lifeson tied the knot on Friday after the legalization of same-sex marriages earlier this month. Lifeson married his partner of twenty-two years, former Toronto Police Service detective Geddy Lee._

_When asked about the wedding, Lifeson happily corrects, "It wasn't much of a wedding. Neither of us wanted a big ceremony, so it was just a quick thing at the courthouse. We wanted to make sure to get the marriage certificate in case the law got overturned."_

_He jokes that the decision to marry stemmed from his indecision over a birthday present. "Geddy's birthday is on July 29_ _th_ _, and I had no idea what to get for him," Lifeson laughs. "I mean, what do you get someone you've been with for 22 years? Marriage seemed like a pretty reasonable step."_

_News of Lifeson's sexuality might be surprising to fans who have followed his esteemed major-league career. Signed with the Blue Jays in 1977, Lifeson quickly rose through the ranks to become the American League's Rookie of the Year. In 1979, his batting average was the second highest in the league and helped bring the Blue Jays into the World Series against the Pittsburgh Pirates._

_Throughout the '80s, Lifeson continued landing on the American League All-Star team, and aided in the Blue Jays winning the World Series in '83 and '85, and the pennant in '87. Tragically, the 1987 World Series would mark the end of Lifeson's baseball career when he suffered a knee injury during the final game against the St. Louis Cardinals._

_However, Lifeson remains humble. "I played for a good while, and I had fun doing it. It's unfortunate it had to end that way, but if that's the worst thing that happens to me, I'm pretty lucky." He wasn't always so optimistic. "I was a real jerk after I got hurt, just complaining and bitching. But Geddy was so supportive. He wouldn't give up on me. I shudder to think where I'd be now without him. I love him."_

Alex re-reads it, carefully searching for any choice of words that might hint at a cynical, homophobic slant. He comes up empty.

"You love me," Geddy teases, grinning at him across the table. "And I've got it in writing."

"Smug asshole," Alex says with love. He picks up his steaming coffee mug and takes a sip. "You don't think it's too—I mean, what if the public turns on me now that they know I'm gay?"

"I'm the designated worrier in this household," Geddy reminds him. "You just relax and let me fret over everything that could possibly go wrong."

Somewhere between breakfast and lunch, Alex receives a handful of congratulatory phone calls from former teammates about his nuptials. No one is sarcastic in their well-wishing, which Alex finds suspicious at first, but eventually he warms to the idea that coming out hasn't thoroughly destroyed his reputation the way he feared it would.

"I told you there was nothing to worry about," Geddy says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Alex's lips before claiming his mouth. He tastes like coffee and maple syrup and love, and Alex winds his arms around Geddy's waist as he leads him to the stairs. "When will you learn to listen to me?"

"Did you say somethin'?" Alex grins against Geddy's mouth and holds him tighter.

Geddy chuckles and hooks his thumbs in the elastic of Alex's sweatpants. "I'll never understand how you can be purposely obtuse and stubborn, yet I'm still attracted to you."

"All part of my innate charm. I can't turn it off. This charisma is why sports fans fell in love with me."

"They only liked you 'cause you could hit a ball out of the park."

"What can I say? I'm great with balls."

Geddy snorts a laugh. "I can't believe I signed up for this." He nudges Alex up the stairs, and they're halfway up when someone's cell phone starts ringing from inside the bedroom.

"That's you," Alex murmurs around Geddy's eager kisses. "And you're not going to answer it 'til I'm satisfied."

"You took five calls this morning."

"We weren't in the middle of banging."

"We _could've_ been." Geddy climbs the final two stairs and disappears into the bedroom.

Alex thinks he'll have to start a 'blue balls' jar to deter Geddy from leaving him hanging like this. He joins Geddy in the bedroom and slides in behind him on the bed, fondly kneading Geddy's shoulders with his fingers.

Geddy answers the phone with a perky hello, but his cheery demeanor falls away when he recognizes who's calling. "Oh. It's been a while. ... You did? Well, thank you." His muscles seem to tense while he listens to whatever's being said on the other end, and he leans into Alex's touch in a way that almost seems unconscious.

There's a long moment where Geddy's just listening, nervously chewing the fingernails on his free hand before Alex plucks them away from his mouth. "Oh. ... Well, that's—I'm flattered, I guess, but—How come they didn't call me? ... Hm, probably... Can I have some time to think about it?"

Alex brushes his fingers through Geddy's hair, patient and tender, until he hangs up the phone. "Who was it? Some old flame who saw you got married and wants a second chance?"

Geddy huffs a quiet laugh. "Unlikely."

Alex waits for a moment. "Are you going to answer or do I have to _persuade_ you?" He skims a hand over Geddy's thigh.

"Lerxst..." Geddy sighs, and Alex knows to wait him out, because he'll eventually open up. "That was Broon." Terry Brown—a.k.a. Broon—was Geddy's squad captain on the force. "He got a call from Halifax PD. There have been some recent murders that fit the M.O. of all those unsolveds back in '93." Geddy takes a breath. "They want me to come in and work with Halifax as an advisor, since I did most of the investigative legwork on those cases."

Alex gets his arms around Geddy's waist and sort of pulls him down onto the mattress. Geddy goes willingly, lying on his back alongside him and staring up at the ceiling. "And you don't wanna do it?" Alex ventures.

Geddy shoots him a questioning look.

"You asked for time to think about it so you could figure out a way to say no." Alex finds Geddy's hand and laces their fingers together.

"I don't know... Maybe I should do it. Maybe I could finally catch this guy."

"It's been, what, twelve years since his last known murder? Isn't that unusual?"

"Sometimes. He was probably incarcerated, which accounts for the time gap, but the change of venue is interesting." Geddy's already starting to analyze it, trying to piece together the puzzle. Solving a case would certainly be a more fruitful pursuit than solving the daily crossword, but Alex knows how these cases affect Geddy.

"Well, you've been outta the game just as long as he has," Alex says, trying to be encouraging. "Sometimes a break is good, helps you think clearer."

Geddy's brow creases.

"You know I'll support whatever decision you make. I always have," Alex says, and he's rewarded by Geddy climbing on top of him and kissing the words out of his mouth.

* * *

_October 1993_

Over the last year, Toronto had been caught in a panic over a string of violent murders, made even more frightening in that the victims were chosen at random. No particular demographic seemed to be targeted. The middle and upper classes could not casually dismiss 'high-risk' victims because _everyone_ was at risk.

One of Alex's favorite things about Geddy was his tenacity, but this same aspect of his character became, over time, a debilitating weakness. Geddy spent most of his waking hours poring over case files and chasing down leads, no matter how fruitless. Alex never understood how Geddy could handle gruesome crime scene photographs or lurid details of what human beings are capable of doing to each other. So when Broon ordered Geddy to talk with the department shrink, Alex wasn't surprised. Geddy had been with the Toronto Police Service for sixteen years now; what was truly surprising was that he hadn't reached his breaking point sooner.

That night, when Geddy came through the front door, Alex was determined not to let him skip dinner and head upstairs to wallow in depressing case files like usual. "Hey, dinner's ready."

Geddy made a noncommittal noise before adding, "I'm not hungry."

"Well, too bad." Alex snagged Geddy's arm and steered him toward the dinner table where Justin and Adrian were already seated. "I don't bust my perky little ass in the kitchen so you can go to bed hungry."

"Dad, please don't talk about your ass while we're eating," Justin groaned.

Geddy took his place at the table, though he didn't look happy about it. To be fair, he hadn't looked happy about much lately. His eyes had enough bags under them to go on a three-week cruise.

He drank steadily from a bottle of wine he shared with Alex, and kept silent until prodded into conversation by Alex or the boys, and even then he only supplied succinct, one to two-word answers. Justin and Alex were wise enough not to engage Geddy during his shitty moods, but thirteen-year-old Adrian was a slow learner.

"Ged, are you going to my game tomorrow night?" Adrian played second base on his school's baseball team.

Geddy blinked in that way of his when he's completely forgotten about something. "Oh. I have to work. I'm sorry."

"You never come to my games."

"I'm sorry, buddy. It's nothing personal. If your brother played, I'd miss his games too." Geddy gulped his wine. The last thing he needed.

Adrian took one step too many. "How come you always have to work? Dad said you wouldn't be working as much 'cause you have to see a shrink."

Alex's heart clenched. He had screwed up by telling his son something he shouldn't have. Adrian had found the pressure point, and the fuse was lit.

"Do you know why I'm always working?" Geddy snapped. "So I can protect you! You think the world is safe? Well, here's something you should learn right now. It's never been safe! You have zero concept of what's out there. There are people who will snatch you up and tear you apart, and you won't be able to run away, and no one will come to help you. I go to work and try to catch them, and you deal with me missing some of your games. That's paying the cost of living."

Adrian blinked rapidly, his eyes wide and welling with tears.

"Easy, Ged."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Adrian pushed away from the table and sprinted up the stairs.

"Damn it," Geddy grumbled under his breath.

Alex opened his mouth to say something, but a door slammed shut from upstairs. "Ged, what the hell?"

"I lost my temper. It happens."

"It's been happening a lot lately," Alex muttered loud enough for Geddy to hear.

"I'm sorry, I just—I've been stressed out."

Alex wanted to poke at that, but not with Justin still at the table. He waited until dinner was finished and the boys were upstairs before approaching the topic of Geddy's noxious moods. Alex loitered in the kitchen while Geddy finished off the wine.

"Look, I totally get that you're under a lot of stress," Alex started, "but you gotta realize how that affects us. We're your family, and you're pushing us away."

Geddy sighed a long exhale and toyed with the stem of his wineglass. After a moment of silence, he said, "Broon and Dr. Collins think I should retire."

Well, at least Alex knew now what the problem was.

"They can't take me off these cases," Geddy continued. "I have to finish this. I can't just let these go unsolved. People are depending on me. What am I supposed to tell the victims' families? 'Sorry, but the murder of _your_ loved one is too difficult for me to handle'?"

Alex took a deep breath and braced himself. "You're the strongest person I know, but I think you're too close to this."

Geddy snapped his head up to look at him.

"You wouldn't even date me at first because of your job. It's like it's ruining any chance at happiness you could have. The stress is slowly killing you."

Geddy shook his head. "The day this job _stops_ gnawing at you, that's the time to leave."

"By then it'll be too late. Ged, you need to have solid footing to do this kind of work, and I don't think you do anymore."

"So you think I'm crazy?"

"Jesus Christ, Ged, you know I didn't say anything like that. Will you just stop?"

Geddy swirled the wine in his glass and took a sip. Even now, Alex couldn't help but see how beautiful Geddy was. It still amazed Alex that Geddy had chosen him. "Just let me catch this guy," Geddy said, a pleading in his voice. "Then I'll retire."

He was bargaining now, and Alex felt sorry for him. "Bad guys are like the heads of a hydra. You take one down, and two more pop up. There's always gonna be 'one more case' for you."

"I can't just give up—"

"You're not giving up. Do you think I 'gave up' playing ball when I got hurt?"

"No, but that's totally different—"

"It's really not."

"Just let me finish this. Please. I can't just walk away."

Hearing Geddy's stubborn refusal ignited Alex's blood. "Fine. Screw yourself up some more! We both know you're not going to quit after this case. You're just buying time to come up with some other excuse. It's one thing to do this job if it's actually helping you, but it's not anymore."

Geddy met his eyes. "If I stay on the force, are you going to leave me?"

Alex felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Something was happening here, bending them under tension and hostility. It took him a moment to find words. "Ged, I love you, but I can't stand watching you hurt yourself like this."

Geddy stared at him, and Alex felt as though Geddy could see right through him. "I guess I have my answer."

"This isn't an ultimatum. I just—If you don't care about the damage this is doing to you, fine, but at least think about what it's doing to me and the boys. Is that worth it? They're your kids too, y'know."

Geddy squirmed the same way the boys did when Alex pressed them for answers. Alex briefly wondered if they learned it from Geddy or if Geddy picked it up from them. "Did I ever tell you why I took this job?"

"I don't think so."

Geddy waited a moment before speaking again, and when he did his voice had a far-off quality to it. His gaze was on the hardwood floor. "After my mother was killed... I was in a bad place for a while. I trusted the police to solve the case and find whoever did it, but they couldn't. They had no leads, and eventually it got lost in the shuffle. So I solved it myself."

Silence. Alex pulled up a chair and sat beside him.

"I had a copy of everything in the case file. I did my own interviews with some of Mom's friends, hoping they'd tell me something they might not have said to the police that would give me a lead. One of them said they had lunch with her on the day she was murdered. So I went to the restaurant and asked the head of security for a copy of the surveillance tapes of the parking lot."

Alex gave him a curious look.

"The case file reported fresh traces of a particular type of oil in the driveway of my mother's house. It was a kind she didn't use, which got me thinking that maybe someone followed her home and attacked her there. Anyway, the surveillance tape showed her talking to a stranger in the parking lot who got into his car and appeared to be following her. So I turned the tape into the police. After they tracked the license plate number and brought the guy in for questioning, his fingerprints ended up matching ones left at the scene, as well as two other unsolved cases." Geddy downed the remainder of wine in his glass. "So the police offered me a job."

Alex was sort of stunned he'd never heard any of this before. But he kept far away from the subject of Geddy's family tragedies.

"I have to solve these cases, because if I don't I'm letting people down. I need to give them the same sort of"—Geddy struggled for the word—"relief that I had."

"That's why I said you're too close to this. You treat every case like it's your mother's. How long can you keep doing that before it breaks you?"

Geddy looked away, as though he knew he was already broken. "I just—I don't know. I'm sorry..." He lifted a hand to his cheek and wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye. "Sometimes I can do everything right, and it still feels like I failed. I used to feel good when I solved a case, but now... It's like you said. There's always one more case."

Alex reached out and took Geddy's hand in his own. "I love you," he reminded him, because he thought Geddy needed to hear that again. "And I'm not—I'm not gonna leave you if you stay on. You can do whatever you wanna do. At the very least, try to take better care of yourself, okay? You skip meals, you work too many hours, and you end up snapping at me and the boys. It's not healthy."

Geddy nodded as though he'd been scolded. "So you'll stay with me even if it means being hurt by my poor decisions? But the whole problem is that I've been sticking with something that keeps hurting me?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm a big, fat hypocrite. But I think I'm entitled." Alex smiled.

Geddy glanced around the dining room. "If I retire, what am I gonna do with all that free time?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things," Alex said with a smirk. "Now go upstairs and apologize or I'll spank you."

* * *

_August 1_ _st_ _, 2005_

Alex wakes up the next morning with a bit of a hangover. He and Geddy spent last night drinking and having lazy, intimate sex. Alex vaguely recalls falling asleep underneath Geddy after his second orgasm of the night. He swings his legs out of bed, and his knee creaks and groans from a combination of early morning soreness and last night's, uh, activities. From downstairs he smells breakfast, so he throws on last night's discarded pajamas and heads for the kitchen.

Geddy has prepared scrambled eggs with cheese and mushrooms, which is the most complicated thing he can make without risking a kitchen-related disaster. Alex has always been the designated cook of the household, so finding food already prepared comes as a surprise.

"I'll just assume you were going to bring these to me," Alex jokes, scraping what's left in the pan onto a plate.

"Since when have I ever brought you breakfast in bed?"

"It's never too late to start. Husbandly duties, remember?"

Geddy chuckles. "I'm starting to think you only married me because you wanted a servant."

Alex pours himself a cup of coffee and sits at the table. "No, I married you 'cause I love you. The fact that you take care of me is just a bonus." He steals a piece of toast off Geddy's plate and scoops some scrambled eggs on it.

Geddy looks like he wants to argue with Alex's blatant food thievery, but he keeps quiet.

Alex bites into the toast and nudges the inside of Geddy's ankle with his toe.

"Lerxst, please stop molesting my leg under the table."

"I'm not doing anything," Alex says, feigning innocence, then he's traveling up Geddy's calf.

"You're so juvenile," Geddy sighs.

"You married me, so what's that say about you?"

"Your childish sense of humor keeps me young."

"So does every time you let me come on your face. Does wonders for the complexion."

Geddy sort of chokes on his coffee. Alex just grins at him.

"You're disgusting."

"Again, I reiterate: you married me." Alex takes another bite of toast and eggs. "Oh, hey, Adrian's in town for tonight's game." Adrian followed in his father's footsteps and became a major-league baseball player, although he was recently traded to the Cardinals, which Alex pretends is egregiously offensive. "He's probably not expecting us, but it'd be nice to show up."

"Yeah."

Alex has been with Geddy for over two decades. He's seen him in every kind of mood, experienced him in every emotion. So when Geddy gives him that oddly sad smile, Alex's heart plunges into his stomach.

"What's wrong, babe?"

"I don't think I'll be able to make it."

"You got other plans?"

"Actually..." Geddy starts, his voice catching. "I decided I'm going to go to Halifax and take the job. I called this morning, and they're ready to bring me on as early as this afternoon."

Alex tries not to sigh or make a face or indicate in any way that he's not thrilled about this. "Oh. Well, I'm glad we made this decision together."

"Didn't you say you'd support whatever decision I made?"

Damn, he did say that. "Well, yeah, but..."

"You sounded pretty supportive last night."

"Because I thought you were gonna say no," Alex chuckles weakly. "C'mon, Ged, we just got married. I wanna enjoy you for a little while longer before that new husband smell wears off."

Geddy ducks his head, like he doesn't want to concede that Alex just made him smile. "I won't be gone that long. Two weeks at the most."

Alex groans. "We haven't been apart that long since I was still playing ball."

"So maybe this'll be good for us. A little separation is healthy."

Alex is a little offended Geddy's trying to spin this abysmal life choice into a positive thing. But he knows trying to force Geddy to see sense will only create a permanent fissure between them.

"Okay, two weeks. Then you're bringing your sweet little ass back home, unsolveds be damned."

Geddy blinks in surprise. "You're being very agreeable."

"Well, you've been retired for a while. Maybe looking at this stuff with fresh eyes will help."

"It's not too late to beg me to stay."

"Groveling is so unbecoming. And with my bad knee..."

"That's never stopped you before," Geddy says with a small smile, and they're back to their usual equilibrium.

Alex leans back in his chair and sighs. "Man, I'm gonna miss you."

"I promise I'll try to call you every night. And that I'll go to bed at a reasonable hour." Geddy rolls his eyes with fondness. "I'll be fine, Lerxst. I took care of myself for a long time before you came along."

"I know. I trust you." It's himself Alex doesn't trust to make it through alone.

* * *

_February 1985_

Alex heard the sound of the front door unlocking and perked to attention. Geddy came through the door, shedding his coat on the rack in the foyer. Adrian and Justin greeted Geddy as though happy to see him before turning back to the television.

Alex couldn't help but grin at the sight of Geddy shaking snowflakes out of his hair. "Cold out?"

Geddy made his prissy annoyed face before Alex's smile wore him down. He crossed the living room floor, earning protests from the boys when he stepped in front of the TV. Geddy dropped onto the couch beside Alex, and Alex draped an arm around his shoulders.

"I'll warm you up," Alex said, waggling his eyebrows.

Geddy chuckled and snuggled closer.

Alex grabbed the nearly-empty pizza box off the coffee table and set it in his lap. "I would'a saved more for you, but the boys eat a lot." During the off-season, Adrian and Justin stayed with Alex, and Alex discovered for himself why Charlene lamented going to the grocery store almost every other day.

"You didn't cook?" Geddy said with practiced surprise, picking off green peppers, pieces of ham and pepperoni from one of the remaining pizza slices.

"What can I say? I'm lazy." Alex snatched up the discarded meats for himself and licked the grease off his fingers.

Geddy frowned as though disgusted, but this in no way stopped him from enjoying delicious pizza.

"I didn't know if you were coming or not," Alex said while Geddy ate.

"I told you I would."

"Yeah, you said you'd come over when you got off, but I know how you like to put in extra hours." It wasn't unusual for Alex to wake up in the middle of night as Geddy quietly slipped into bed next to him.

"Wherever the Bat-signal shines, I'll be there," Geddy joked. Justin and Adrian had eloquently explained to Geddy that he was like Batman because he took up fighting crime after the death of his parents, which Geddy apparently found endearing enough to roll with.

"So if you're Batman," Alex wondered, "does that make me Robin?"

Justin took that one. "No, you're the Joker."

"But the Joker's a bad guy," Alex protested.

"I think your son's calling you a clown," Geddy pointed out with a wry smile.

"At the very least, I think I'm more of an Alfred."

"You could be Catwoman," Geddy said, grinning, which sent the boys into hysterics.

"Well, I think I look pretty good in leather," Alex murmured at Geddy's ear.

They spent the rest of the evening watching TV until Justin and Adrian fell asleep. Alex corralled both boys to their room and tucked them into bed. Adrian stayed zonked out—that kid could sleep through a heavy metal concert—but Justin stirred awake as Alex eased him into bed.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"How come Geddy doesn't live with you?"

The question took Alex by surprise, but he found the answer was obvious. "Well, because I haven't asked him to."

"Why?"

Alex just shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I should."

"Yeah, 'cause he doesn't have a mom or dad anymore, so he's probably by himself all the time."

Alex had been toying with the idea of asking Geddy to move in with him, but he was waiting for the right time to present itself, possibly in the form of Geddy making the first move and suggesting the idea himself. But, of course, Geddy was too shy and polite to invite himself into Alex's life like that, so Alex had to be the one to broach the topic.

"Would you like that?" Alex asked, because the kids' opinions mattered, too. "If Geddy lived with us?"

Justin nodded. "I like him. He's funny."

"Not as funny as me?" Alex said, pretending to be offended.

Justin rolled his eyes and laughed. "No, Dad," he sighed, like they'd had this conversation a million times.

"Good." Alex kissed his forehead. "Now go to sleep." He switched off the bedside lamp, and the nightlight kicked on. Adrian was young enough to still be afraid of the dark, and while Justin had insisted he was too old for that sort of thing, Alex thought he took a bit of comfort in it anyway.

Alex came downstairs to find Geddy tidying up the living room. It was such a domestic thing to do, showcasing Geddy's own comfort and ease in Alex's home, that Alex was stricken by how deeply he craved Geddy's presence as a constant in his life.

So of course he deflected his true feelings with a joke. "Look at you, acting like you live here," Alex teased as Geddy dropped empty soda cans into the garbage.

"Someone has to clean up after you."

This was his moment. Alex felt it. He moved close enough to take Geddy's hands in his own. "You should move in with me," he said before he could talk himself out of it.

Geddy's eyes widened.

"My kids already think you're great. You've pretty much passed the test. You're around often enough, and if you lived here you'd save time on commuting. It just makes sense."

"Do you always ask the help to cohabitate?" Geddy asked coyly.

"You're not the help, Ged. You're my boyfriend. And I want you here. With me." Geddy wasn't saying anything, and Alex jumped into the silence before it could do irreparable harm. "Maybe just think about it? You don't have to answer right now."

Geddy leaned back against the kitchen counter, gazing at Alex with a curious look. " _If_ I move in with you, I expect you to cook dinner. None of this lazy, ordering pizza shit."

"You're only saying that because you hate my choice of toppings."

"Those peppers are disgusting and you know it." Geddy's voice went unusually quiet when he spoke again. "Besides, I like your cooking. It reminds me of home. At least, the home I used to have."

Alex couldn't begin to imagine the pain Geddy must carry around, the weight of his loss. "Well, this could be your new home. If you want, I mean."

"Do you think—" Geddy stopped, started over. "What if people find out? If the public knows that you're gay, they might—your career could suffer."

Alex shrugged. "So? You're more important to me."

Geddy's stunned expression broke Alex's heart, because it was clear he'd never been told that before.

Geddy blinked quickly, as though collecting himself. When he spoke again, his voice had a teasing edge to it. "Well, if you're _that_ desperate..."

Alex found it difficult to kiss Geddy's stupid, smirky mouth through the way he was grinning.

* * *

_August 1_ _st_ _, 2005_

That night, Alex finds Charlene in his private skybox at the Rogers Centre. "So, you and Geddy finally got hitched, huh?" she asks as he drops into the open seat beside her.

Alex flashes her the ring on his finger.

It's the top of the first, and Adrian is at bat. Despite following Adrian's major-league career for three years, Alex still feels more jitters and pride watching his son play than he ever did during his own career.

"I hope this marriage goes better than ours did," Charlene says.

"He's got a huge cock, so, yeah, probably."

Charlene smothers a laugh and shakes her head. "You were never this juvenile with me."

"To be fair, you weren't neck-deep in horrible shit day in and day out. My charming wit is one of Geddy's favorite things about me."

"Another being _your_ huge cock?"

Alex grins. "Give the lady a gold star!" He glances at the empty seat opposite her. "Rupert couldn't make it?"

"He stepped out to make a call."

Charlene married Rupert Hine, an affluent businessman who owns a handful of Tim Hortons coffee shops throughout Ontario. Rupert had been the one to advise Alex on investing in a restaurant of his own.

Charlene eyes Alex curiously. "Speaking of husbands, where's yours?"

Alex tells her about Geddy's trip to Halifax while Adrian bats. The third pitch is a fastball that Adrian slaps over the right field foul line and into the upper deck. Adrian gets a clean hit on the next pitch and sends the ball soaring into the outfield. He's sprinting to first base by the time the ball touches the ground, and sliding into second before the ball lands in the baseman's glove.

Rupert returns to the box during the second inning while the Cardinals lead 2-1. He breaks into a wide smile when he sees Alex. "Alex! Good to see you!" Rupert always seemed like an obnoxious game show contestant—upbeat and ridiculously saccharine. At first, Alex felt put off by Rupert's personality, mostly because he thought it was odd to be so aggressively friendly with your wife's ex-husband. But Charlene probably told him Alex was gay, so Rupert couldn't possibly see him as a threat to his new marriage.

"You too, Rupert."

"Congratulations on your marriage," Rupert says, and Alex hears the undercurrent of regret there. At Rupert and Charlene's wedding, Alex served as Rupert's best man, so it must seem a slight affront for Alex to have bypassed the opportunity to return the favor.

"I didn't know you read the sports page," Alex jokes.

"Charlene told me."

"Of course."

"How's your boy doing?"

"Not bad," Alex says, feigning restraint, though the proud smile on his face probably gives him away.

Throughout the next three innings, both teams remain at a scoring standstill until the top of the fifth when Adrian leads off the inning. Pitching for the Blue Jays is Jimbo Barton, and though his better years are behind him, he's still dangerous on the mound.

But Adrian inherited his father's hand-eye coordination and quickness. As much as you might try to work on it, some things you just can't teach. Jimbo seems to know this, apparently learning from Adrian's batting during the start of the game, because his first two pitches look as though he's trying to walk him instead of risk a home run.

The third pitch trails inside, and Adrian attacks it, lacing the ball over the fence in center field and tacking on another run to the Cardinals' lead.

In the bottom of the seventh, Adrian shows his defensive prowess with a diving catch in right field, snagging a line drive and quickly throwing to first base. The ninth inning brings him another turn at bat, in which he strikes out, but the Cardinals' pitching and defense in the bottom of the inning ensures a 3-1 win.

Adrian finds Alex and Charlene a little while after the game. He greets his parents with a bright smile reserved only for them. With the press, Adrian is modest, always crediting his teammates and appearing uncomfortable when he's made the center of attention. But with his family, he talks freely about his accomplishments.

"Did you see that catch?" Adrian says, grinning as Alex gives him a fist bump of congratulations.

"Couldn't've done it better myself."

Adrian takes Alex's hand and smiles at the sight of the ring. "So you actually did it, huh?"

"Thanks in part to you." Adrian played a vital role in Alex and Geddy's marriage; a day or two before the proposal, Alex called his son to ask if the marriage would affect Adrian's career or relationships with his teammates. Adrian told him to go for it, that he didn't care what anyone thought as long as his parents were happy.

Adrian looks around. "Ged's not here, huh? Must be important." Since retiring from the force, Geddy has not missed one of Adrian's Toronto games.

"He's just out of town for a week or two." Alex doesn't want to distract Adrian with the news of Geddy's sudden departure. Best to play it casual.

"Well, I'm really happy for you guys. And so is Neil." Neil Peart, the star hitter of the Cardinals back in the '80s, became the team's hitting coach in '88. Alex can't help but think Neil had a hand in getting Adrian aboard.

"Is he? Well, he can pick up a phone and tell me," Alex chuckles, disguising it as a joke.

Neil hasn't spoken to Alex since the day after the accident, eighteen years ago. Alex awoke from a heavy dose of pain medication to find Neil there in his hospital room, sitting with Geddy. Neil looked guilt-stricken and tried to explain how sorry he was. Alex forgave him and may have said something else—he was still pretty doped up on pain meds—but that was that.

Adrian snorts a laugh. "Bitter, much? Maybe that's why he hasn't called."

Alex gives a dismissive handwave. "It was almost twenty years ago. Maybe he feels guilty, but, hey, get over it. I did."

"Not everyone is as freakishly well-adjusted as you are," Charlene interjects.

"Or as freakishly well-hung."

"Dad," Adrian groans, like Alex is the most embarrassing person in the entire world.

Charlene sighs and says, "You're not allowed to talk anymore."

* * *

Alex thought about asking Adrian to crash at his house for the night, but he didn't want Adrian distracted for tomorrow's game with worries about his father feeling lonely without Geddy around. So he bid Adrian good night and went home alone.

Just before midnight, Alex is lying in bed, trying to fall asleep when his cell phone rings and vibrates on the night table. He flips open the phone and smiles at the caller ID. "Ged?"

Geddy's voice is soft and tired. "Hey. How was our boy?"

"Great. Just like his old man."

"Thankfully, he's not as prone to bragging as you are."

Alex settles back against the pillows. It's almost frightening how at ease he feels hearing Geddy's voice. "Did you catch the game?"

"Mm, no, unfortunately. I had a lot to catch up on. New case files."

Alex doesn't envy him. He once made the mistake of sneaking a glance at one of the case files Geddy brought home to study. He'd only caught a quick glimpse at one of the photographs there, but that was all he needed to cement it into his nightmares. That image has stayed with him, tapping him on the shoulder every once in a while when he thinks he's at peace. He has no idea how Geddy lives with hundreds—maybe thousands—of those pictures in his head.

"How're they treatin' you over there?" Alex wonders.

"Much of the same," Geddy says. In his mind's eye, Alex can see the way Geddy's shrugging right now. "Some of the guys are sports fans, so they read about the marriage. Don't worry, no one badmouths you. You're a legend, right up there with Babe Ruth and Ted Williams."

"Trying to flatter me, Ged?"

Geddy chuckles.

"But it's not me I'm worried about."

Geddy sighs, full of love and appreciation for Alex's concern. "If anyone said even a slightly disparaging remark about my sexuality, the department would probably fire them and give me a blowjob in order to prevent a lawsuit."

"Not sure I approve of someone who isn't me blowing you."

Geddy makes a quiet noise of laughter, then he yawns.

"Shit, I'm keeping you up, aren't I?"

"No, no, it's just—jet lag, y'know?"

"What jet lag? You're one time zone away."

"Shut up," Geddy teases, and Alex can hear the need for sleep in his voice. "Tell me about the game."

So Alex does, recounting Adrian's every defensive play and time at bat. This is a routine of theirs, birthed from their first few years together when away games kept Alex from home. Alex would call Geddy after the game and give a play-by-play of his performance until one of them ended up nodding off. Usually it was Geddy, because it's hard to wind down and relax after a game, your brain and body too wired to rest.

Tonight is no different, and soon Alex hears the soft cadence of Geddy's breathing that he is so intimately familiar with. He bids him a quiet goodnight and hangs up.

* * *

_October 1987_

The World Series. Game Seven. Winner-take-all. Exhibition Stadium was packed with Blue Jays fans hoping and praying for a win. It was the top of the third inning. The score was tied 1-1. One out, no one on. The Cardinals sent Neil Peart to the plate, and Alex was guarding second base. John Rutsey, the Blue Jays' starting pitcher, was on the mound.

John's first pitch was a fastball low and inside. Neil swung and missed. He worked a 3-2 count, then he began fouling off pitches in a duel between the two players. John wasn't going to walk him. Neil wasn't going to strike out.

Alex was always impressed watching Neil bat. Neil was the season's top-ranked hitter in the National League Central division; Alex held the same record for the American League East. The press liked to play up a rivalry between them, in typical sports hyperbole fashion, but Alex never felt any bad blood towards Neil. He studied his swing and stance the way a pitcher would, searching for ways to improve his own.

John threw another pitch. Alex thought Neil might go for a bunt, but instead Neil smacked the ball and launched it into the air. The ball dropped into far right field, and Neil was already on first by the time the right fielder charged in.

Neil kept moving, barreling straight towards Alex on second base. Alex kept his eye on the ball as it fired near, his glove outstretched. Keeping his left foot planted on the bag, he stretched out to reach for the ball. A bit of an awkward position, but it would have been fine if Neil hadn't gone for a slide.

Neil slammed into Alex while sliding onto the base, taking him out at the knees. There was a sharp, hot pain, like metal talons shredding his left kneecap into thin strips, then nothing. He fell backwards onto the ground. The ball sliced through the air above him before bouncing on the green.

Neil could have gotten up and made it to third, maybe even scored the run to put the Cardinals in the lead. But he stayed there on the ground, kneeling over Alex and gasping, "oh my God," over and over, because Alex wasn't getting up.

Dazed, Alex laid on the ground for a handful of seconds. The pain in his knee was an angry clusterfuck of hot knives and glass shards blasting through him, but he thought surely he could get up and make it to the Blue Jays dugout. He had to be capable of that much. Alex pushed himself up on his elbows as the benches cleared and everyone rushed toward him. He tried to stand, tried to get his feet under him, but his left leg wouldn't budge.

"Oh shit," Neil said, his voice shaky with panic. "Can you move?"

"I don't—I don't know." Alex could wiggle the toes on his left foot, so he didn't think he'd been paralyzed. Slowly and carefully, he tried to bend the knee. Horrible idea. Even that slight twitch of movement made the tendons feel like they were being freshly ripped. Pain seared through him, rendering his vision hazy-white.

Alex remained conscious long enough for the ambulance to arrive, but when they loaded him onto the stretcher, even that slight jostle of his knee was too much to take. Maybe it was a combination of the panicked adrenaline gushing through his veins and the way his knee felt like it had been ripped apart by shrapnel, but, mercifully, he passed out.

* * *

_August 2_ _nd_ _, 2005_

Alex jerks awake, his heart racing and his panicked cry hanging in the air. A dream. Of course. He knew that. He's had the same dream intermittently since the accident, but tonight's resurgence must be due to Geddy's absence.

There's an electronic chirping sound coming from his right. On the night table, his cell phone flickers and beeps like R2-D2 on speed. Alex doesn't recognize the number but answers the call anyway. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end is timid and oddly familiar, and Alex hasn't heard it in eighteen years. "Alex? It's Neil. Neil Peart."

Alex's first thought is that something has happened to Adrian. Why else would Neil be calling him? Panic knots in his stomach. "What's wrong? Is Adrian okay?"

"He's fine, but I can understand why that would be your first thought." Neil chuckles nervously. "I just, uh, wanted to congratulate you on getting married again."

"Really? Well, hey, thanks, that's nice to hear."

"How long have you two been together?"

"Since '83. You met him once, remember? At the hospital."

Alex can almost _see_ the way Neil's face caves in at the mention of anything related to the accident. "Oh. Oh. Yeah. Wow, that's a long time."

"Yeah, twenty-two years." Alex gets the feeling Neil isn't typically the life of the party. But it must have taken guts to make this call, so Alex thinks he ought to return the favor. Tonight's game is at 7:05, so Neil has a few hours to kill before the team bus leaves at three for the Rogers Centre. "You wanna get lunch? I own a place."

"You—What would we talk about?"

"It's been almost twenty years since the last time we talked to each other. You're telling me nothing interesting has happened in your life since then?"

Neil is quiet for a moment. "It's all gonna come back to that awful night. I'll apologize, and you'll tell me to forget about it, that it doesn't bother you anymore, even though we both know that's not how you really feel. We'll leave a little sadder than we were before, and nothing will have changed, except we'll have this irritating little epilogue."

God Almighty.

"Fine, I won't tell you to forget about it. I'll hold it against you forever. Now, are you gonna have lunch with me or not, asshole?" Alex laughs.

He doesn't expect Neil to show up, so Alex is stunned to see him walk through the door of The Orbit Room thirty minutes later. Neil joins him at the cozy little table, sitting in a plush, cream-colored chair across from Alex. "This is nice," he says, as though he expected the place to be a total dump.

It's a grey, dull afternoon in Toronto, so the warm lighting in the restaurant is a welcome mood-shifter. Alex and Neil are sitting amongst a row of small, round tables along the wall. Two tables away is a ceiling-high case of wines, and further down lies the fully-stocked bar. Almost every surface is shiny, transparent, or both. There's an outdoor lounge encased in glass and decorated with plants and trees that is breathtakingly beautiful on a sunny day and romantic at night.

After their food has been ordered, Alex sips at his wine and says to Neil, "You look good." This, of course, is a polite lie. Neil actually looks tired and stressed, and somehow much older than Alex remembers. He's also gained some weight, but Alex is in no position to judge there.

Neil smiles and says, "So do you."

Alex should probably be worried about the veracity of that statement, but it's not like Geddy's filed a complaint. Yet. "Thanks."

Neil sips deeply from his beer, his eyes darting from left to right, to the silverware on the table, to the painting on the wall of a gondola ferrying down the Grand Canal. So, basically, everywhere but Alex.

Alex sighs and leans back in his chair. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

Neil's eyes are wide, the way a deer looks before being hit by an oncoming car.

"That I'm gay?"

"No, no, no way."

Alex has a gut feeling that Neil is still berating himself for the accident. He would feel bad for him if it wasn't so damned pathetic. It's not as though Neil's self-flagellation has gone toward a worthy cause; Alex has a loving husband, two wonderful children, and co-owns a successful restaurant. He's not bemoaning the loss of his baseball career while dying alone in a ditch somewhere. This is pathetic.

"Alright, look. Obviously the past is gonna come up at some point here, so let's just rip the band-aid off now." Alex spreads his hands. "Let it go, Neil. It was almost twenty years ago. And, yeah, I was really angry about it for a while, but I'm over it. Looking back, hurting my knee was probably the best thing that could have happened to me."

"You really believe that?"

"Yeah, I do. Being retired from baseball helped me to see how Geddy was falling apart in his own job. If I had still been playing, away from home for over half the year, he would'a driven himself into the ground. Once I retired and went through rehab, I got full custody of my kids, which helped me bond with them and helped Geddy be a bigger part of their lives. Really, I owe you."

Neil exhales, staring at the beer bottle in his hands. He shakes his head. "You would've retired eventually," he says like he's making a point.

"But being forced to quit gave me and Geddy an opportunity to see how strong our relationship was. I was an asshole after I got hurt. I cried, cursed the gods, got angry. All that good stuff. And Geddy stuck with me. I knew he was in it for the long haul. And that wouldn't have happened if I'd just decided to retire on my own."

Neil seems to be thinking this over, his long-standing guilt wavering in the face of Alex's optimism. "Is that why you asked me to lunch? To tell me that?"

"What else were you expecting?" Alex chuckles. "C'mon, there's a lot of good reasons for us to talk and get to know each other again. Put this behind you, Neil. Or at least count it as a win and move on."

Once their food is delivered, Neil opens up about his life after the '87 World Series. "I went on leave for a while," he explains. "My wife and I had just had a daughter, and I wanted to—I wanted to spend time with them. And what happened to you had a lot to do with why I stopped..." He trails off, as though wanting to say more. "But we needed money, so I became a hitting coach a year later."

Alex asks the question that's been brewing in the back of his mind for a long time. "Did Adrian getting signed to the Cardinals have anything to do with you feeling guilty about what happened between us?"

Neil shakes his head, resolute. "Adrian's an outstanding player. He delivers every time he's at the plate. He knows what he's doing. And his defense is just phenomenal."

A small grin tugs at Alex's mouth. "Nice way to tiptoe around that one. You've got a promising future in politics."

"I wouldn't put in a good word for a guy just because I felt guilty," Neil insists. "He has to be a good fit for the team." He takes in Alex's expression and scowls. "No, I didn't suggest Adrian because of you. He'd already proven himself during his time with the Blue Jays."

Alex nods and takes another drink of wine. "Why did you call me? I mean, out of the blue? After almost twenty years? Why now?"

"I heard you got married. I figured I should try to mend fences, y'know? And Adrian suggested it."

"Did he? Well, I'll have to thank him."

During a lull of silence, Alex takes his cell phone out of his pocket and snaps a photo of the food on his plate.

"What are you doing?" Neil wonders.

"Geddy likes to get judgemental when I eat something bacon-related. So I'm just fucking with him." Alex types out a quick message—' _jealous?'_ —before sending the picture. He wouldn't even know how to do half the shit on his phone without Adrian's assistance and urging. Text messages are easier for Adrian to write and respond to, so Alex had to learn how to type in order to maintain relatively-frequent contact with his son. Geddy, never one to back down from a challenge, learned too.

"I guess he didn't want to come," Neil says, sounding self-conscious.

"He's at work, so it's nothing personal."

"I thought he was retired."

Alex tells him about Geddy's current assignment in Halifax. Neil listens with rapt attention, and it strikes Alex that maybe it's not impossible for them to be friends. Maybe all Neil needed was to see Alex happy and healthy despite the injury. Or perhaps time has healed Neil's wounds enough for him to see things clearly.

Whatever the reason may be, Alex is optimistic.

Halfway through the meal, Alex gets a text response from Geddy: _rude._ Alex grins to himself and doesn't even care that Neil's staring at him like he's lost his mind.

* * *

That night, Adrian gets the Cardinals out of a tight spot in the top of the sixth when the Blue Jays are ahead by one. After the Cardinals' shortstop drew a two-out walk, Adrian hit a 2-run homer to give St. Louis the lead. Then in the ninth inning, the Cardinals had Adrian on third. The designated hitter smashed a grounder back to the mound. The pitcher flipped the ball to first for the out. Adrian bolted for home and beat the throw to the plate, earning another run. Aggressive baserunning is a big part of Adrian's strategy, which he learned from watching some of Alex's best plays.

Adrian's pretty proud of himself, so when he finds Neil in the locker room after the game and asks, "How'd I do?" he's expecting a more encouraging response than what he gets.

He can tell immediately that Neil is on edge. Neil has been acting pretty strung out today—he'd been nervously fidgeting with his cell phone during batting practice and glancing around as though looking for someone—but Adrian thought a well-played game would bring him back to earth. Apparently not.

"Oh, oh," Neil says, like he's just now realizing Adrian is in the room. "Yeah, you were great. Fantastic. Good energy. Good effort."

Adrian gives him a curious look. "Dude, is everything okay? You've been buggin' out since you and my dad had lunch."

Neil's eyes go wide. "How do you know about that?"

"'Cause he told me?"

"Oh. Damn."

Adrian can smell booze on Neil's breath, even from where he's standing. He must have been drinking before—and maybe during?—the game, since any alcohol consumed during his lunch with Alex would have metabolized by now.

"Did he say something to you?" Adrian can't imagine his father placing blame to the guy's face, but he also can't think of another reason why Neil would be acting so strangely.

Neil shakes his head. "You don't wanna get involved in this, Adrian. Leave it alone."

There are a million things Adrian would like to say here, but he knows he's made as much progress as he's going to. It would be unwise to push. So he shrugs and says, "Whatever."

After a shower and a few quick words with the beat writers, Adrian finds Alex and Charlene in their skybox. He hugs both of his parents, and his heart swells at the prideful smile on Alex's face. "Great job out there, kid," Alex says, channeling Han Solo.

Adrian smirks and playfully slugs Alex's shoulder. "I learned from the best, old man."

"Don't call your father old," Charlene scolds half-heartedly. "You know how self-conscious he is about his age."

Adrian doesn't bother arguing the fact that any comments about Alex's age bother Charlene more than him, because they remind her that she's getting older too.

"Dad, what exactly did you and Neil talk about?" Adrian wonders. "'Cause he's been acting weird all day and I'm inclined to believe it's your fault."

Alex gasps and places a hand on his chest in mock offense.

"Could you have said something to him that might've... bothered him?"

"He was fine when I talked to him." Alex places his hands on his hips. "Maybe you're the culprit here. Did you ever think of that?"

"Did you see my performance tonight?" Adrian volleys back. "Not likely."

Alex shrugs, his palms facing upwards. "Then I dunno what to tell you."

Adrian looks at him for a moment, feeling a bizarre wave of fondness for his father. He remembers that Geddy is out of town, which leaves Alex all by himself in that huge house. "Hey, Dad? Would it be a problem if I crashed with you tonight?"

Alex's expression brightens. "Something wrong with your hotel room?"

"What's that old saying about a gift-horse and a mouth?"

"Smart-ass." Alex claps him on the shoulder. "You can stay whenever you want."

"Can I also get a ride to the hotel? I need to get my stuff."

"Well, now you're just being unreasonable."

Adrian takes the hotel elevator to the eighth floor. He has already forgotten what his room number is, which means he spends a minute or two sticking his keycard into random doors.

He's trying one of the doors when he hears Neil's voice from the other side. "They have proof!" Neil's voice is trying for a hushed whisper, but the panic there takes it into a louder register. "This could ruin everything. I don't know what to do."

The fact that Neil is even in his room at this hour strikes Adrian as odd, because Neil should be in the video room at the clubhouse right now. But he must have passed the task off to the assistant hitting coach, Hugh Syme. Curious.

The door rejects Adrian's keycard and flashes red. The mechanical sound of Adrian sticking the card into the reader must have startled Neil, because he gasps and whispers hushed words. Adrian doesn't stick around to eavesdrop any longer. He rushes to the next door, praying for a green light.

Neil's door opens. He sticks his head out, looking left, then right. "Adrian?"

"Oh, hey, yeah, sorry, I forgot my room number. Didn't mean to bother you."

Somehow, Neil looks simultaneously relieved and frightened by this.

"Hey, um, I'm gonna stay with my dad tonight, so I'll get my own ride tomorrow."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, my dad's lonely 'cause Geddy's out of town, so..." Adrian shrugs and trails off. Mercifully, the keycard reader flashes green, and this awkward conversation comes to an end.

Adrian scoops his clothes into his suitcase and thinks about his father. Since Adrian was three years old, he has watched Alex and Geddy live out the corniest of love stories. Of course it embarrassed him and made him cringe, as parental displays of affection do. But Adrian is older now, and he can see the impending problems in their all-consuming love.

It's not that Alex and Geddy aren't perfect together. They absolutely are. But all Adrian can think of now is what will happen to them when they lose each other. Alex is nearing fifty-one, and Geddy is already there. This obsessive storybook love turns two into one. When Geddy dies, Alex will be destroyed, too. If Alex goes first, how will Geddy survive after all his past tragedies?

Adrian shakes off the thought and finishes packing.

When Adrian gets to the parking lot, Alex is waiting for him in the car and playing air-guitar along with AC/DC's 'Back In Black.'

"Please tell me no one saw you doing that," Adrian says, tossing his suitcase into the back seat.

"Everyone. And I told them I was your dad."

Adrian rolls his eyes. "Thanks, Father Dork."

"Father Dork makes me sound like I should be wearing a Nehru jacket and sitting in a confessional." Alex rubs his chin as though in deep thought. "I'm not sure Geddy would like that."

"Because he's sorta Jewish?"

"Well, that, and priests can't get laid."

"They probably _can_ , they're just not supposed to."

Alex looks over at him. "Are you sure you wanna stay with me?"

"Yeah, of course. You're my dad."

"So is Geddy."

"You're the best I've got right now."

Alex exhales slowly and dramatically. "What did I do to deserve such a smart-ass son?"

"You tried your best, but you can't fight genetics."

Alex drives him home, softly singing along with the radio. Normally, Alex's off-key, enthusiastic vocals would make Adrian wish he'd taken the bus, but he's feeling particularly emotional tonight.

He thinks about Neil's conspicuous words in an attempt to distract himself. Neil had said someone had proof. Proof of what? Could Neil be supplying some of the other players with performance-enhancing drugs? It would be incalculably stupid to fuck around with doping in the wake of the BALCO scandal, and Adrian doesn't think Neil is dumb enough to try that now. So maybe he used steroids in the past?

Adrian thinks it over. What kind of proof could someone have that would point to past steroid usage? An old, preserved urine sample? Seriously sick. A video tape of him taking the drugs? Possible. Maybe Neil's involvement was limited to purchasing or selling. So there might be some sort of transactional proof. Like what? Adrian doubts drug dealers print out receipts of their sales.

"Hey," Alex says quietly while they're stopped at a light. "You okay? You're awfully quiet."

"I'm just thinking."

"Something wrong?"

Adrian doesn't know where to start. Is it even worth talking about? Maybe, because it seems to be bugging him. Alex might be able to shed some light on this. Adrian tells Alex about Neil's cryptic conversation while he drives.

Alex listens, nodding in all the right places. When Adrian's finished, Alex asks, "So what do you think?"

"Great help, Dad. I dunno. Drugs, maybe? Did that seem like something he was into back then?"

"We weren't on the same team, so I didn't really get close with him."

"I thought you guys had a Yankees-Red Sox thing going on."

"According to the press. But we were just two guys from different teams who hit really well."

So much for that, then.

"You hungry?" Alex asks when they get inside the house.

Adrian flashes back to the aftermath of the baseball games of his youth, how Alex would always cook something special for him to celebrate a win. The house has remained fundamentally unchanged since those days, too, which makes him feel as though he's stepped into a time capsule.

Except he knows he's in the present, because he can't unsee how old his father has become. The lines around his eyes, the steadily-thinning hair, the inexplicably swollen hands and fingers, the parentheses around his mouth etched into permanence. Sure, Alex's extra pounds have filled out some of the wrinkles in a way that almost defies his age, but Adrian can still see the footprints of time there.

"Um, no, Dad, you don't have to trouble yourself—"

Alex makes a scoffing noise and heads into the kitchen. "Trouble? Bullshit, it's thirty minutes. Besides, I'm hungry too. C'mon, I'll make that upscale Hamburger Helper stuff. Your favorite."

"My favorite when I was twelve, maybe." Adrian is stricken by a surge of tenderness toward his father. He should visit more. "Alright, go ahead."

They split a bottle of wine while they eat. It feels strange for Adrian to sit at this kitchen table with only a third of the usual suspects present. When Geddy still worked for the Toronto Police Service, it was customary for Adrian to spend dinner with Alex and Justin. Then, after Justin went to college, Geddy and Alex filled chairs here. But being here with only his father is strange, perhaps a terrifying glimpse into the future.

"What've you been up to since Geddy's out of town?" Adrian asks, casually fishing for information.

"Going to your games, mostly."

Which pretty much confirms what Adrian has suspected all along: Alex is frighteningly dependent on Geddy.

"And what're you gonna do the rest of the two weeks? You should call up Justin, see what he's doing."

"He's probably busy with legal stuff, like laws."

Adrian's brother, Justin, graduated from the University of British Columbia's law program and makes his living in Vancouver specializing in business law. He has a spacious office with a breathtaking view of the Harbour, his own secretary, and fancy linen business cards with embossed lettering. He rarely visits, though this is no fault of his own, because he seems to have inherited Geddy's workaholic syndrome through osmosis rather than genetics.

"What about Mom?" Adrian suggests. "You could have brunch with her or something. Rupert wouldn't mind. He'd probably wanna come along."

Alex lifts an eyebrow. "Why're you trying to pawn me off on other family members?"

"I'm not, I'm just—Have you seriously done nothing productive since Geddy left?"

"I had lunch with Neil."

There's a point in Alex's corner, albeit a small one. "Okay, which took, what? Two hours max?"

"It feels like you're trying to say something."

Adrian takes a breath. "Yeah, I think maybe you're a bit too attached to Geddy. He's been gone a little over twenty-four hours and you don't seem to know what to do with yourself. You just seem, I dunno, really lonely."

Alex looks surprised by Adrian's assessment. He chews over his answer. "Well, yeah, I miss him. We just got married, and he sorta took off during our honeymoon. But we haven't been apart this long since I was playing baseball. I've gotten used to him being home every night, so when he's not..." He sits back in his chair and shrugs. "It's only been a day. Chill out. I'm entitled to be pouty for a few days when I'm not getting laid on the regular."

"Dad, I try really hard not to think about your sex life, but you make it so, so difficult." How many nights did Adrian have to use his Walkman to drown out the muffled sex noises coming from his parents' bedroom?

"I am so glad you said 'difficult.'"

"You don't spend a quarter-century having a perverted-ass dad without learning how to avoid the sexual innuendo landmines."

"Wow, twenty-five years? I feel old."

"Justin's twenty-eight."

Alex covers his ears with his hands. "That's it. Shhh. I've heard enough."

* * *

_May 1983_

Alex's first date with Geddy took place in a small sushi restaurant downtown. They sat in a tucked-away little booth near the back wall. Neon blue light illuminated the room, giving it an ethereal, dreamy feel. They drank sake while waiting for the sushi rolls. Alex couldn't stop his left leg from jackhammering under the table. He had never been on a date with another guy before, at least not a date that was understood as such by both parties.

Alex noticed Geddy staring at his hands, more specifically the ring on Alex's finger. "Tell me about your marriage," Geddy said in a soft, calm voice.

Not exactly great first-date conversation. "Why?"

"Because it's rude to date someone without knowing if their wife is cool with it."

Alex felt a spark of indignation for having to go over this again, but he was the one who invited Geddy out, so, yeah, maybe he should elaborate. "Charlene was my best friend in high school, sort of like a sister. We did almost everything together. At the time, I didn't know I was gay, but I didn't feel weird when I was around Charlene like I did around some of my guy friends. So we grew pretty close. One night, she told me she loved me. I knew I was supposed to say it back, but I couldn't. Because I didn't mean it the way she did. But I said something like, 'yeah, me too,' and one thing led to another."

"You got married?"

Alex huffed a laugh. "No. Sex."

"Oh."

"It was okay. Kind of unremarkable, but I thought that's 'cause it was my first time. Maybe it got better the more times you did it? I didn't know. But having sex with girls seemed like what normal guys did. And I wanted to be normal..."

Geddy listened with rapt attention, looking at him with bright green eyes Alex would be happy to fall into and never find his way out.

"We moved in together after high school," Alex continued. "Then we got married. I wasn't in love with her, but I thought that part would come later as long as I took the right steps: get married, have kids. I was playing in the minor leagues then, so I was away from home a lot. When I would call, I'd make jokes about her having a bullpen, in a way that sorta suggested she find someone to help her take the edge off. I don't know if she ever took me up on that, but by that point she probably knew I wasn't straight.

"But I couldn't handle the lying. When you lie to someone, that lie sits on your shoulder, y'know? It's always in the room with you. So after I got signed to the Blue Jays, I told her the truth, that I wasn't sexually attracted to her or any other woman. She kinda laughed about it. But not in a mean way. We both wanted kids, and she knew if I went off with some guy that I'd never have the chance. So we decided to go for it and raise a family."

Geddy studied Alex's face, as though searching for a lie here, too.

"You're a detective, right? This can't be the craziest thing you've ever heard."

"It isn't."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

Alex bit down on saying 'like you think I'm lying,' because he didn't want to accuse Geddy of being a douchebag.

"I'm not judging you," Geddy said, practically pulling the thought from Alex's head. "You can tell me more, if you want."

Alex took a sip of his drink. "Long story short, we're both free to see other people. I'm sure she takes her ring off when she goes out."

Geddy didn't ask the obvious follow-up question, because as a detective—and someone with at least a passing interest in the same sex—he already knew the answer.

Their food arrived, and Alex dug in almost immediately, starved.

'Dainty' is kind of an unusual word to use in reference to a dude, but that's exactly how Alex would describe Geddy. He took small, birdlike bites of food, actually used chopsticks instead of his hands, and sat in a way that made him look diminutive. Alex would have bet his life savings that Geddy was an introvert.

"Do you do this often?"

Geddy paused mid-bite. "Do what?"

"Go on dates. Or with guys, I guess."

A shadow flickered over Geddy's face. "I'm not really—I don't get out much. I mean, in ways unrelated to work."

Alex tilted his head, unable to see why. Geddy wasn't unattractive, though his features were a bit unconventional: the size of his nose seemed to make his eyes look tiny in comparison. So he was a bit of a downer—who wasn't sometimes? Endlessly optimistic people rubbed Alex the wrong way, like they were robots powered by sunshine and smiles.

"Why not?" Alex asked.

"I guess because I don't really let people get to know me."

"So you're the quiet loner voted most likely to snap and kill everyone at the office?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Geddy's mouth, an expression he tried to hide by turning his head away from Alex's line of sight. "Well, it's just..."

Alex waited for him to continue.

"Sometimes, after working a case, I don't feel like I can talk to anyone or connect with them. I don't understand how to go from interrogating a man who murdered his wife and children to having dinner with a beautiful woman who, hopefully, will never even scratch the surface of what kind of monsters are out there. It gets under my skin. I feel like some part of me has been tainted by association."

"I think you're doing pretty well now."

Geddy gave him a skeptical look. "Be serious. I know you're waiting for the check."

Around them, the restaurant buzzed with the low hum of conversation, of people coming and going and laughing. But for Alex, the room was just this booth, just himself and Geddy and the possibility of something alchemising between them.

Alex propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm, and batted his eyelashes. "Do I look like I'm disinterested?"

Again with that small smile. Geddy looked even cuter when he smiled, especially when he tried to hide it. "Very much the opposite."

"See? You're not as boring or off-putting as you think."

"You're a very interesting man, Mr. Lifeson."

"That's exactly what my doctor says before he puts me in that uncomfortable jacket with the long sleeves."

Geddy snickered, covering his grin with a hand. Alex felt his heart fizz and sparkle like soda pop.

After dinner, Alex led him to a nearby frozen yogurt shop for dessert. "I bring my kids all the time," he explained, prompted by Geddy's confused look when they ordered and didn't have to pay for anything. "My money's no good here."

"Are you sure it's not because you're a famous baseball player?" Geddy wondered as they sat at a table.

"Mm, that might have something to do with it."

They spread a veritable rainbow of soft-serve treats on the table: pastel blue cotton candy, light pink lemonade, golden vanilla, lime green tropical tart. They shared tastes of each flavor, never questioning the intimacy required. Alex tied a cherry stem with his tongue, and Geddy pretended not to be charmed.

They talked about movies, music, everything but the shaky territory of their personal lives. Alex cracked jokes to make Geddy laugh, reveled in his shy chuckles.

"You do that a lot," Alex pointed out after watching Geddy smother laughter for what may have been the hundredth time.

"Do what?"

"Hide your mouth when you laugh."

"Don't you know you're not supposed to draw attention to people's awkward tics?"

Alex shrugged and sat back. "Nope. I was raised in a barn."

Geddy's eyes widened, because he still hadn't learned when Alex was fucking with him. "Were you really?"

"Not exactly. I was born in Fernie, so a fishing boat is more likely than a barn. But, y'know, same difference, right?"

Geddy blinked and decided not to touch that one. "I used to have a gap between my front teeth," he admitted, chagrined, as though this was a defect Alex might consider a deal-breaker. "Old habits die hard, as they say."

"Well, now I feel like an asshole."

"It's not your fault. You were raised on a fishing boat." Geddy smiled, this time without any sense of shyness, and Alex wanted nothing more than to kiss him right there.

He finally got his chance after driving Geddy back to his car. The stadium parking lot was almost vacant, a few cars scattered throughout like the empty spaces in a nearly-complete jigsaw puzzle.

"Thanks for everything," Geddy said. He stood next to his car, last year's Ford Escort model. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. His feathery fringe swayed across his forehead in the soft night breeze.

Alex shrugged in an 'aw, shucks' sort of way. "Thanks for taking a chance on me."

"Always a sure thing with Lerxst," Geddy said, parroting the slogan fans and sports commentators had coined regarding Alex's impressive batting average.

"In this context, that kinda makes me sound like a slut."

"So you don't put out on the first date?"

Alex found himself moving closer, drawn into Geddy's orbit. "That's up to you." He spoke softer now, their faces impossibly close. He could smell Geddy's shampoo, something fruity and feminine.

Alex caught Geddy staring at his mouth. No one was around, and from a distance they would appear to be any typical couple, so Alex saw no harm in leaning in and covering Geddy's mouth with his own. Geddy made a tiny gasping sound around the kiss, and Alex laid his hand on Geddy's shoulder.

Geddy's mouth was still cold and sweet, and he got his fingers curled around the front of Alex's shirt. Alex tilted his head, his tongue slipping in for just a moment before he pulled away. Geddy's cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide and his lips parted. His voice was different when he spoke again. "I can't believe you did that."

"Was it good?"

"It was perfect." Geddy took hold of Alex's hands, carefully skimming along the length of his arms. He blinked his gaze away from Alex's face and said, in a flirty tone, "So, do you pitch or catch?"

Alex had been waiting his entire baseball career to use this punchline. "I'm a switch-hitter."

Geddy laughed, beautiful and unrestrained, and Alex couldn't help but kiss him again.

* * *

_August 3_ _rd_ _, 2005_

Alex wakes up early enough to cook breakfast for Adrian. Adrian doesn't mention Neil again, though last night's questions piqued Alex's interest.

Could Neil have been using performance-altering drugs during his career? It would make sense why he'd want to keep that quiet, especially since he helped the Cardinals win a World Series title. If proof exists that he'd been doping, an investigation committee could overturn the win, and Neil would be banned from the MLB.

 _They have proof._ That's what Neil had said. This raises two important questions: proof of what, and who has it? And, okay, a third question: how can Alex figure any of this out?

While Adrian lounges in front of the TV after breakfast, Alex steps out onto the deck and dials Neil's number. He sits in a chair and gazes out at the glistening azure pool.

Neil answers on the third ring. "Alex?" His voice is strained and shaky, as though Alex is the last person he wants to talk to.

"Hey, Neil. What's up?"

"This is—this is actually a bad time. I shouldn't be—"

"That's fine, I just wanted to suggest maybe we could meet up for a drink after the game. You, me, and Adrian, maybe? You guys play the Reds tomorrow night, right?"

"Alex, I can't—I don't want to drink with you. Just because your son happens to be on a team I coach doesn't make you and me friends." Something about Neil's voice sounds off, but it's lost in the venom of his words.

Alex opens his mouth, searching for a response, closes it, tries again. "What about yesterday?"

Neil sighs. "You wouldn't take no for an answer."

"You're the one who called me," Alex points out.

"I was being nice, and, alright, yeah, maybe I was seeking forgiveness for what happened, and you gave it, so our story is finished. There's nothing more to gain here. You're trying to push your way back into the game via Adrian so you can relive your glory days through your son. You don't get to do that, Alex. I'm sorry, but you just don't."

Alex gapes, paralyzed in his seat. A little over twenty-four hours ago, he'd been having a nice, pleasant lunch with Neil, with zero indication of these hidden resentments. What changed? Suddenly, irrationally, Alex is heartbroken. He's getting the friend-break-up speech at fifty years old. Rock bottom rises up to meet him.

There's really no option here. Alex nods grimly and says, "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know who the hell I thought I was."

"And Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever call me again." Click.

That went well.

Alex sits in dumbfounded silence for a few moments before stepping back inside the house. Adrian hears the slide of the back porch door and lifts up his head. "You talk to Ged?"

"No." Alex isn't sure how to say this other than to just blurt it out. "Um, what would you say you like the least about me?"

Adrian's gaze shifts like he thinks this might be a trick. "Really? We're really doing this?"

"Yeah, right now."

"Um. Okay. Sometimes you're too facetious when you shouldn't be."

"Okay."

"You love Geddy so much that it's only gonna destroy you when something happens to him."

"Jesus."

"You want me to keep going?"

"Just tell me—Am I one of those pushy sports dads who tries to live out what could have been through their sons?"

Adrian stares at him as though Alex has sprouted another head. "Dad, are you high?"

"C'mon, don't stop now. Keep this honesty train rolling."

"No, you never pushed. You've always been totally cool about me playing ball." Adrian studies his father's expression. "Did someone talk shit about you? I'll kick their ass."

"No, no, don't—" Alex thinks about saying more but stops himself. He doesn't want to put Adrian at odds with his coach. "I was just curious."

Adrian clearly doesn't believe him, but maybe he understands that pushing the topic will be pointless. "Alright, whatever."

After dropping Adrian off at the stadium, Alex drives home as Neil's words echo in his head. _Just because your son happens to be on a team I coach doesn't make you and me friends. There's nothing more to gain here._ What the hell had he meant by that? Just yesterday they'd gotten along fine. So what had happened between then and now to make Neil see things differently?

One thing Alex knows for certain: Neil is hiding something.

So now what?

Alex has a few hours to kill before the game tonight, so he decides to do a bit of research in the meantime. Whatever Neil is involved in—doping, selling steroids—there would have to be some sort of evidence. A trail. Suspicious behavior. Curious peaks in performance. Maybe there are records of that, if you know what you're looking for.

As soon as Alex gets home, he heads upstairs to the bedroom and grabs his laptop from the night table where he'd left it last night. He makes himself comfortable on the bed. Time to do some cyber-sleuthing. He searches Neil's name in conjunction with coaching the St. Louis Cardinals.

Alex isn't necessarily the most computer-savvy guy around, but Adrian takes online college courses in his downtime, and Geddy plays computer games like World of Warcraft and Neverwinter Nights, so Alex has learned a few things over the years.

The search results in a ton of hits, but since Alex doesn't know what exactly he's looking for, he figures this is as good a place as any to start. Start at the end and work backwards.

Alex manages to find a couple interesting articles, and in fairly short order discovers this nugget of information: _Peart retired from the game in 1987 after the Cardinals' won the World Series but ran into financial troubles, forcing him to file for bankruptcy just a year after being one of the most famous players in baseball._

Alex leans back and stares at the screen. Neil had mentioned needing money, hadn't he? He was a top-of-the-line player; teams everywhere were clamoring for him every time his contract came up for negotiation. Alex knows this because the same thing happened to him. The Blue Jays offered pretty sweet perks to keep Alex on their roster year after year. Logic points to the Cardinals doing the same for Neil.

So how could Neil have blown through all that money so quickly? Not to mention his winnings from the World Series?

Okay, sure, maybe he made some bad investments, or maybe he was an extravagant spender. But being married to an ex-detective has taught Alex not to write anything off as coincidence. There's a connection here, something playing at the edges of his brain.

Alex opens a blank text document and types out what he knows:

Neil retires in '87 after winning the World Series.

A year later, he files for bankruptcy.

17 years after that, someone has proof of something that could ruin Neil.

So, admittedly, Alex doesn't know much.

He goes back to the search and tries looking for anything related to Neil's bankruptcy. A handful of articles reported it, but none have any more concrete information beyond that. Neil certainly wasn't talking about it.

A dead end. Maybe.

What if the reason for Neil's bankruptcy was something less than savory? Adrian's first thought had been that Neil was using or distributing steroids. That works out. At least, it explains the third point of there being proof of Neil's transgression.

But hitting home runs requires skills that steroids don't improve, like hand-eye coordination. Steroids are, far and away, a pitcher's vice, because throwing a baseball is one of the most physically destructive acts in sports. As well as helping enlarge muscles, steroids help muscles heal, so a pitcher doesn't have to take a few days off to rest his arm.

So maybe Neil wasn't using steroids himself, but rather distributing. However, if he was handing them out to other players, he sure as hell wouldn't have gone bankrupt. So that leaves the next possibility: amphetamines.

Amphetamines have been a problem in baseball since the heyday of Willie Mays. As a position player, when your grueling schedule demands 162 games in 180 days, it's not unbelievable that you might pop a few uppers to keep yourself awake and alert. Alex himself dabbled in amphetamines, but he didn't like the way they made him jittery, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

The amphetamine angle makes sense, but Alex considers another option: gambling debts. Could Neil have been betting on baseball games? Neil didn't seem like a gambling guy, but he wouldn't be the first person to fool everyone.

It also answers the two most prominent questions: why did Neil lose all his money, and what could someone present proof of that could ruin him?

A third question pops into Alex's brain: _why do I give a shit?_ Neil made it clear that he wants nothing to do with Alex. Alex should just give up on this and forget about it, right?

Except Neil is currently Adrian's coach. Any scandal that erupts around Neil will inevitably affect the rest of the team, Adrian included. And if it's a drug scandal, Adrian could be in serious trouble. Guilt by association. Even if he passes a drug test, the suspicion will always be there, the assumption that he must have cheated the test, too.

Alex can't let that happen to Adrian. But what can he do? Say he busts this case wide open. Then what? There's already a third party involved here, someone with proof of something Neil wants hidden. It's not like Alex can kindly ask that person to keep the information under wraps.

He feels a sudden pinprick. Could someone be blackmailing Neil? Let's say someone approached Neil and told him they have something that could destroy him. If Neil doesn't pay up, they threaten to call the papers. Or the police. That could certainly shake a guy up and make him act erratic. It might also explain his outburst at Alex. Either way, Neil could probably use some help. For Adrian's sake, at least.

Alex types out a quick message to Adrian— _call when u have time_ —and fires it off. He gets a response a few hours later.

"Dad? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I did some research on your BFF Neil."

"Please don't try to sound hip," Adrian groans.

"If I'm not making you wish you were adopted, I'm not doing my job as a father. Anyway, Neil went bankrupt—"

"Hold on, hold on."

Alex waits, listens as the background noise on the other end fades. Adrian must be moving to a more secure area.

"Okay, go ahead."

"So, Neil went bankrupt one year after the Cardinals' World Series win in '87. Maybe you weren't wrong about him being involved with drugs. But my money's on gambling."

"That's some pretty serious shit. You think he could keep that up on a coach's salary?"

"Maybe. He's been doing it for a while, so he could've wised up, cut back a bit."

"Let me guess: you want me to keep an eye out?"

"Don't sound so exasperated. This could affect you."

"I know," Adrian murmurs, like he's agonizing over that particular fact as well. "I'll do what I can, but don't expect any miracles."

"Oh, I know. I already defied the odds and got my miracle."

"Your awesome, wonderful children?"

"I was actually referring to Geddy, but, yeah, you guys rule, too!"

"You can't see it, but I'm flipping you off right now."

Alex laughs. "Love you."

* * *

After hanging up, Adrian sends a text message to Geddy: _your husband is playing detective. I blame you._

He watches Neil throughout the game while he's in the dugout. Now that Adrian has an inkling of what Neil's problem might be, every move the guy makes is somehow linked to drug abuse. The power of suggestion.

Adrian tries to think about this from another angle. Maybe Neil isn't involved in drugs. He might have a different vice, like gambling or soliciting prostitutes. Would that be enough to 'destroy' him, as Neil so eloquently put it? Sure, it'd probably get him kicked out of the MLB. But Adrian likes the drugs theory. Having all your past records and achievements nullified and voided would be a blow to any player.

Tonight, Adrian's performance is mixed. He strikes out in the first and fourth, and ends his turn at bat in the seventh with a pop fly. But his defensive game is on-point. He catches three fly balls in right field, one of which is retrieved with an acrobatic dive. The Cardinals win 4-2.

Adrian doesn't waste time after the game. He sends his father a text explaining that he won't be able to come up to the box and see him. He figures Alex will understand. The coaches have a meeting in the clubhouse tonight, so Adrian boards the players' bus en route to the hotel. He walks through the brightly lit lobby and to the front desk. He has no idea how this is going to pan out, but it's worth a try.

"Hi," he says, turning on a full-wattage smile as he approaches. "I think I left my key in my room, and I was wondering if I could get an extra. Room number 820."

The woman behind the desk returns the smile. "Not a problem at all. Can I see your ID, please?"

Damn. No getting around this. Luckily, he has two back-up plans. Adrian hands over his driver's license. He watches her type something into the computer, notices the slight squint, the tilt of her head. Shit.

"Mr. Lifeson," she says, "I think there's been a mistake. Your name is registered under room 822, not 820."

Adrian snaps his fingers as though remembering something. "Oh, right, right! 820 was my coach's room number, but I made him switch with me 'cause I don't play very well when I stay in a room with repeating digits. All the numbers have to be different, or else they might as well put the bat between a dog's paws and tell 'im to do his best."

"You're a baseball player?" she asks, mildly intrigued. "I thought I recognized the name from a long time ago, but you look a little young."

"You're probably thinking of my dad. He played for the Blue Jays."

"Was he the one who got injured?"

"Yeah." Adrian briefly considers telling her about the bizarre coincidence that is Neil being both Adrian's coach and the one responsible for Alex's injury, but that probably wouldn't instill confidence in this woman that Adrian isn't pulling some sort of scam here. So he just nods solemnly, as though Alex suffered a far worse fate than his knee discovering new forms of non-Euclidean geometry.

The woman slides a little envelope containing the keycard across the counter. "Here you are, Mr. Lifeson. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, that'll do it. Thanks." He peels out a twenty from his wallet and slips it to her. She looks at it for a moment then makes it disappear.

Adrian takes the elevator to the eighth floor. The excitement of sneaking into Neil's room fills him with adrenaline. He likes the idea of getting in there and figuring out what Neil's up to, because Adrian knows he's hiding something.

He isn't sure if Neil's room will hold any clues, but if it does, Neil won't complain to the front desk about anything missing. It's like someone stealing your drugs. Suck it up and take the loss.

Adrian gets inside and takes a look around. Neil's room is pretty standard hotel fare. There are clothes and towels slung over the bed. His suitcase lies open on the floor. Adrian shuffles through it but finds nothing of interest.

He turns his attention to the desk, rummaging around in the drawers. Hotel notepad, pens, a room service menu. There's no need to waste time with that. People don't keep secrets on paper anymore; they keep them on their computers.

On top of the desk is a laptop. Adrian opens the lid and is greeted with the fade-in of a standard-fare Windows desktop. As the computer wakes, the drives spin to life. A menu pops up in the middle of the screen, displaying a list of actions for the media currently inserted into the CD drive...

Hello.

Curious, Adrian pops open the CD tray. Inside is a blank disc labeled "Peart, '87" in black Sharpie. Could this be the 'proof' Neil was talking about?

Adrian closes the tray, and the computer whirs like a jet take-off. The menu pops up again. Adrian clicks open Windows Explorer to see what kind of files are on the disc. Apparently, only one. An audio file. Adrian clicks on it. A menu pops up demanding a password. Damn.

The file is probably encrypted. Adrian has no idea where to start on guessing passwords. He looks around the desk for any sort of note that might give him a clue. But if this disc contains something Neil doesn't want exposed, he probably wouldn't leave the password lying around.

Adrian opens the CD tray again and puts the disc into the nearby jewel case. He slides the case into his pocket before slipping out of the room. As soon as he's safely tucked away next door, he calls Alex.

"Dad, are you far from the hotel?" he asks after Alex answers.

"I can get there. Why? Something wrong?"

"I think I found a clue."

Alex meets him in the hotel parking lot within fifteen minutes. The inside of the car is warm and smells of fast food. "Did you get food before you came here?" Adrian wonders in disbelief.

"I thought you might be hungry. And that I might have to trade you for the clue."

"Because this already looks like some sort of shady drug deal." Adrian shakes his head and pulls the CD case out of his sweatshirt pocket. "I tried to open it, but it's password-protected. Maybe Geddy knows somebody who can decrypt this."

Alex makes a face. "I don't really wanna bother him."

"Well, I already told him you're playing junior investigator, so—"

"You told him?"

"Should I not have done that?"

Alex frowns.

"What's the big deal?" Adrian wonders. "He might be able to help, or get you in touch with someone else who can."

"I don't want him to worry about me. You know how he is."

When it comes to his family, Geddy's middle name might as well be 'Anxiety.'

"Being able to help you might make him feel better," Adrian says. "But, y'know, it's your call."

Alex stares at the disc in his hands for a moment. "Thanks. It probably wasn't easy to get this."

"It's no big deal. Now where's my food?"

Alex reaches behind the passenger seat and hands Adrian a grease-stained paper bag filled with delicious trans-fats.

Adrian grins. "Decent. Thanks, Dad." He looks at his father, the man who has cared for him and loved him his entire life, and feels his heart swell in his chest. He blinks and discovers his eyes are wet.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just—I feel like each time I see you is gonna be the last, y'know?"

"Jesus, kid, you're a hell of a downer sometimes," Alex says with a laugh.

"Like father, like son."

"What? I'm always a delight!"

"I was talking about Geddy."

"Oh." Alex chuckles. "He used to be way more depressing, but your old man thawed him out." He looks ridiculously proud of himself, and Adrian feels a strong wave of fondness crash into him. "He didn't even wanna go out with me at first because of this nihilistic worldview. He didn't think making a connection with someone or falling in love was worth the inevitable pain of losing them."

"'Cause he lost his parents?" Adrian can't even imagine what that's like.

"Yeah, he was pretty much Batman, without the costume and the cool car." Alex gazes at something in front of him for a moment, lost in the past, before shaking it off. "It's late, and you've got a flight to catch in the morning."

"Yeah, I'll see you around. Thanks."

Adrian takes his food and slides out of the car.

* * *

_November 1987_

Geddy peeked his head into the bedroom where Alex lay in bed watching TV. "Hey, you want me to make dinner?"

Geddy had been waiting on Alex hand and foot since his release from the hospital. Alex stayed confined to the bedroom, venturing out only for occasional trips to the bathroom. Geddy had taken two weeks off of work to tend to him. Alex appreciated Geddy's kindness—really, he did—but the inability to walk as well as he'd like to irritated him like a grain of sand in the retina.

Alex looked at him. "If you want."

"I asked _you_."

Alex shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter."

Geddy sighed. "Are you hungry?"

Another shrug.

"It's easier to get a proper answer out of Adrian," Geddy said, sitting on the bed beside Alex. "And he's seven."

Alex scrubbed a hand over his face. "You know I'm not hungry on these painkillers."

"That's why I'm reminding you to eat. It'll help you get your strength back."

Alex made a scoffing noise. "Sure. Three meals a day will fix a knee that shattered like glass. Maybe if I drink enough milk I can get my baseball career back."

Geddy scowled at him. "Don't be an asshole. With rehab and therapy, you never know what might happen."

"I think we both know my days as a ballplayer are over. And pretending like they're not is just patronizing bullshit. Is this how you treat the victims' families you interview? 'You see, your brother Steve was killed in a car accident, but if you send him some good vibes he'll come back!'"

Alex could see Geddy gnawing the inside of his lower lip, the way he gathered his restraint. "I know you're upset and angry, and you have every right to be, but please don't take it out on me. I volunteered to do this because I love you. But you've been so cruel and hurtful to me ever since, like it's my fault you got injured."

Geddy's hands were balled into fists, resting on the top of his thighs, and Alex saw the subtle quake there. He was trying so hard not to cry, afraid to show that Alex had wounded him deeply. Geddy had always been so sensitive, more vulnerable than his hardened exterior would let on.

This was the man who dutifully dedicated himself to a relationship with a major-league ballplayer, who didn't grow complacent and indifferent during Alex's long stretches of time away from home. The same man who never asked for more than a comforting pair of arms and a kind, oftentimes humorous word. The man who loved Alex's children as though they were his own, who kept them entertained and happy when Alex couldn't.

Alex did not much like himself right now.

"Shit, Ged, I'm sorry. I just..."

Geddy placed a gentle hand on top of Alex's own. "I know. You're angry and confused and in pain. It's okay to feel those things. But if you want me to take care of you, you're gonna have to treat me better than you've been."

"I'm sorry," Alex said, suddenly unable to maintain eye-contact with Geddy. He would have groveled if he had full use of his knees.

"You're forgiven," Geddy said, which shouldn't have made Alex feel worse, but it did.

* * *

_August 4_ _th_ _, 2005_

The next morning, as the St. Louis Cardinals are flying over Lake Erie, Neil navigates the aisle and takes the empty seat next to Adrian. Adrian pulls off his headphones. "What's up?"

Neil does not look happy. His face is a study of judgemental, furious glares. "You have something of mine. I'm gonna need you to return it."

Adrian's heartbeat picks up speed in his ribcage. He tries not to show any signs of guilt. "What're you talking about?"

"Don't play games with me. Just return what you stole, and that will be the end of it."

"I got no idea what you're talking about. Sorry. Maybe you've got me confused for someone else."

Neil cocks an eyebrow. "Is that really how you want to play this, son?" Something about his tone turns Adrian's blood to ice. "Last night at the hotel, you got a keycard from the front desk and used it to access my room."

Shit. Neil's on to him.

"The woman at the front desk was happy to tell me after I persuaded her."

"That's called bribery, y'know." Adrian runs his mouth when he's nervous. Thanks, Dad.

"I wouldn't have even known what you'd done, except as I was checking out she mentioned something about your superstition. You created some cock-and-bull story about trading rooms with me. Of course she had believed you. Athletes are known for being superstitious, and you look harmless enough."

Adrian swallows hard.

"You took something very important to me. If you return it now"—Neil spreads his hands—"no harm done."

How best to play this? Neil obviously knows Adrian took the disc. So lying is out. "If I give you back the disc, will you tell me what's on it?"

Neil's expression closes off. "No."

"C'mon, you gotta give me something here."

"You committed bribery and theft. I don't 'gotta' give you anything."

A point for Neil. Adrian thinks about reminding Neil that he too committed bribery, but that probably wouldn't be the best move. "Alright, you're right. I took the disc. But I don't have it anymore. I gave it to my dad."

"Why would you—" Neil sort of shouts, then glances around the plane, as though fearing someone heard him. But most of the players are sound asleep, others wearing headphones blasting loud music. Neil's voice is a half-shout half-whisper when he speaks again. "Why would you do that?"

"Because, hello, my dad's married to an ex-cop. He can figure out what's on it."

Neil's already pallid complexion turns even paler.

"Let us help," Adrian says.

Neil shakes his head. "No. Get out of this, Adrian. You don't want to mess with these people."

"Geddy's got connections with the cops. He's in Halifax right now working on a case. He can help."

More head-shaking. "No. No. No cops."

"Look, whatever's on that tape, my dads will be discreet about it—"

"This isn't up for debate," Neil cuts in. "If you keep pushing or interfering, I'll get you traded to Kansas City."

The Kansas City Royals currently have the worst win-loss ratio in the MLB. Neil isn't fucking around here.

"Alright. I'll have my dad overnight it to you."

This, of course, only makes Adrian more curious about what's on that disc.

* * *

Alex is awakened by his cell phone. His hand fumbles on the night table, awkwardly groping for the noisy device. His eyes are too blurry to read the caller ID, but he has a good idea of who it might be. "Hello?"

"I just saw your text," Geddy says, trying very hard to keep the worry out of his voice. "What's wrong?"

Geddy isn't blessed with remarkable intuition that clues him in on the troubles brewing in the lives of his loved ones. His father died of a heart attack before Geddy was in high school, and his mother was brutally murdered, so Geddy lives with the unshakeable conviction that God isn't through dicking with him.

Alex's sleep-coated brain recalls the text he sent Geddy last night: _call me asap._ Okay, that could instill worry in even a rational person. It's amazing Geddy isn't booking a flight home as they speak.

"Nothin'." Alex rubs his tired eyes and rolls onto his back. "I just need a favor."

Geddy sighs. "I'm getting ready for work. I don't have time for phone sex."

"You don't have one minute?"

Alex can almost see the pout Geddy's giving him right now. "What do you want, Lerxst?"

"Um, I was wondering if you had any connections with the phone company."

"Does this have anything to do with your sleuthing?"

"Maybe... I'm looking for a log of phone calls from and to a particular number."

"No, I'm not cheating on you."

Alex huffs a soft laugh. "Not everything's about you, Ged."

"What's the number?"

Alex reads it off.

Geddy sighs again. "You better not be making trouble."

"Me? I'm being a perfect little angel."

"Now I'm suspicious."

Alex's line of thinking goes like this. Neil was all fine and dandy while having lunch with Alex, right? Then the next day he acted like Alex was something left unflushed in a toilet. So maybe there's something in his phone records that might shed some light on why he turned into such a douchebag within twenty-four hours.

"Don't be. I'm behaving myself. Can I ask you a question? Do you know anyone who might be able to crack a password-protected file?"

"Babe, it's called a paywall. You put in your credit card info, and _then_ you get to see the naked pictures."

"There's only room for one smart-ass in this marriage. And that's not what I'm talking about."

"I know, I know." Geddy breathes a soft sound, and Alex is immediately transported to the night of their marriage, when Geddy had sighed that same sound near Alex's ear, his breath hot on the slope of his shoulder. "I don't know if I have that kind of pull around here. I mean, when you get invited to somebody's house, you try to be on your best behavior. Not really the best time to be asking for favors unrelated to a case."

"I get it." Alex doubts Broon, Geddy's former squad captain, will be amenable either. So the disc is a dead end for now. "Can I ask another question?"

"No," Geddy says, coy and teasing.

"Where are you staying?"

"You gonna come visit?"

"Maybe I wanna order you a pizza sometime."

"I've seen what you put on your pizzas. No thanks."

"Ged," Alex whines, until Geddy gives in and tells him the address. "Dartmouth, huh? I thought you were in Halifax."

"It's close enough. And Dartmouth is where the bodies were found, so it makes sense to be kinda"—Geddy grasps for the phrase—"close to the action, I guess. Anyway, I gotta go. I'll talk to you tonight, okay?"

Another flashback to the past, this time all the nights Geddy would stay at the station, leaving Alex lonely and horny. "Sure. Love you."

"You too."

* * *

Alex receives a visitor that afternoon. The man standing on his doorstep is big and bulky, like a professional wrestler—or an NFL player. He's wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, and a bandana tied around his head, covering his hair. His beard is ridiculous enough to make him a member of ZZ Top.

"Name's Brutus," he says, and, oh, this is off to a great start. "I'm a friend of Neil's."

Alex attempts to play dumb, see where this will go. "Neil who?"

Brutus gives him a tired look, like he's already done with Alex's bullshit. "Neil Peart."

Alex is still suspicious, but he decides to roll with it. "Well, what can I do for you?"

"First things first, I'd like to offer my congratulations on your marriage."

This is... bizarre.

"Thanks. Did you—did you want to talk to Geddy about something? He's not here right now, but—"

"Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you."

"Okay..." Alex doesn't see the harm in letting this guy inside for a chat. Geddy, of course, wouldn't have answered the door in the first place. But unlike Geddy, who spent almost twenty years in a job centered around dealing with the worst of humanity, Alex believes that people are generally good. Sometimes all it takes is a drop of human kindness to make someone's day a little brighter.

Besides, Brutus might have some insight into Neil's situation. Maybe he's a concerned friend with nowhere else to turn.

Brutus steps inside, and Alex shuts the door. "You want a beer?" Alex offers.

"No thanks." Brutus doesn't sit, so Alex doesn't either. He seems like the kind of guy who can stand for hours and never tire. Maybe he used to be a bouncer.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Neil tells me you have something he wants."

Oh boy.

"I'm here to retrieve it."

"There must be some sort of mistake, I don't—"

The speed with which Brutus moves is terrifying. His right hand turns into a fist. Before Alex can even register what's about to happen, Brutus swivels into a roundhouse blow. His knuckles slam up and under Alex's ribs, toward the liver.

Alex gasps in a silent plea for air. His knees buckle underneath him, and he drops to the floor like a slit bag of sand. Bright lights swirl in his eyes. His lungs spasm, desperate for oxygen.

Shit.

Fuck.

This is bad.

Brutus takes a step back, watching Alex writhe in fish-on-boat-deck fashion. His face gives away nothing, casual indifference to the suffering before him. Like hurting someone is paperwork.

"I wouldn't play dumb if I were you, Mr. Lifeson," Brutus says.

Panic squeezes Alex's gut, his insides trembling from the punch. Jesus Christ. He gulps, but still no air comes.

"What did you see on that disc?"

"Nothing, I swear. It's encrypted, I couldn't—"

Brutus hits him again, this time a powerful kick to the ribs. A bolt of agony surges across Alex's chest. Nausea swims through him. He thinks he might vomit.

"Let's try this again," Brutus says. "What did you see on that disc?"

"Nothing!" Alex doesn't know how to make this sound any more believable. He finally manages to gulp down a few breaths of air, and he runs his mouth when he has enough oxygen to speak. "If you're here for the disc, you gotta know it's important, right? So why would something that important not be password-protected?"

Brutus studies Alex for a moment with that blank stare. Alex wonders what he sees, if he's going to be merciful or just considering where else to hit him.

"Give me the disc."

Alex rolls onto his back. With some effort he manages to sit up. "Gladly."

He staggers to his feet, his legs like jelly, and leads Brutus up the stairs into the bedroom. Alex rehearses in his mind how an escape might go. He could grab one of the heavy glass vases on the bedroom dresser. Turn around and bash Brutus in the head, like in the movies. Would that knock him out? And if it doesn't, what would Alex's next move be? Brutus is huge, so going hand-to-hand is probably a bad idea. He's also proven to have a fair amount of experience with violence.

The disc is tucked away in the drawer of the night table. Alex pulls open the drawer with a shaky hand. "My husband's a cop," he says, suddenly grateful that Geddy is far from home. "If you kill me, you won't get away with it."

"I'm not here to kill you," Brutus says. "I just want the disc."

What the hell is on this thing?

Alex hands the disc to Brutus, his hand still shaking. Pathetic. He tries to stop the quake of his arm. "Here."

"Did you make copies?"

"Do I look like I know how to do that?"

"Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Lifeson."

"Does that mean you're actually a sweet guy on the inside?" Why should Alex stop using humor as a defense mechanism when he's pants-pissingly terrified?

Brutus' mouth twitches into what might be considered a smirk. "I'll be able to tell if you made copies. If I find out you're lying to me, I'll come back."

"I didn't, I swear. I didn't even put the thing in my computer. You can check that too, right?"

Brutus sort of nods. He tucks the jewel case into a pocket inside of his leather jacket. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Alex is still shaking when Brutus leaves. He watches through the blinds as Brutus climbs aboard his motorcyle—parked a few houses down—and departs.

So, that happened.

Alex sits on the couch and takes deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. What's his next move here?

How about giving up? Just because Alex is married to an ex-detective doesn't mean he himself possesses the necessary skills to conduct an investigation. It's obvious Alex is way out of his element here, and it could have cost him his life. Say he had managed to crack the password-protection. What would Brutus have done to him then?

If Alex needed a sign to walk away from this, being sucker-punched in the stomach was probably it.

Then, what, he should just let this potential scandal destroy Adrian's career, too?

Adrian would probably prefer being alive and out of professional baseball than being dead while still signed to a team.

Oh, Christ. _Adrian_.

Alex dials Adrian's number, his heart trip-hammering in his chest. Adrian has probably arrived at the stadium by now, most likely warming up for tonight's game. He may not even hear his phone. Maybe he stashed it in a locker.

 _Please pick up_.

Adrian answers almost immediately. "Dad? Did you get my text?"

"What text?"

"I sent you a message, like, hours ago," Adrian sighs. "About the thing."

Alex surmises Adrian is not alone and doesn't want to give too many details over the phone. "I didn't get anything. But, listen, whatever it was, forget about it. You're out of this now, Adrian. So am I. You don't know what you're dealing with."

"Did you find out something?"

"No." Alex weighs the pros and cons of telling Adrian about the assault. On one hand, it would probably convince Adrian to leave this alone, but it would also worry him and screw with his game. It might also frighten him into coming home.

A father is supposed to protect his children. That's what Geddy has always done, both literally and figuratively. Shouldn't Alex do the same?

"Just trust me. This isn't something you want to mess with. It's dangerous."

Adrian is quiet for a moment. "Okay. I'll stop. Are you sure you didn't get my text? Maybe you missed it."

"I've had my phone with me all day."

"Damn. I sent it when I was on the plane. I guess it didn't go through."

"What was it?"

"It was about the thing. I need it back."

"Neil threw a fit about it, didn't he?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Just a hunch. Don't worry. It's already taken care of."

"Thanks," Adrian says in a small voice.

"No problem. Stay out of trouble, now."

"Yeah, you too."

After hanging up, Alex books an evening flight to Dartmouth.

* * *

Alex uses his frequent flier miles for an upgrade. Ever since his knee injury, Alex has cherished the extra legroom available in first class. Too often in coach he ended up sitting behind some asshole who put their seat back as far as humanly possible, and he would be sandwiched between two people, one of whom inevitably talked about Alex's baseball career. While Alex isn't opposed to meeting fans, sometimes he just wants to relax.

The plane is half full this evening. Alex has a window seat. As the plane ascends and the city lights of Toronto grow smaller and smaller, Alex thinks about Geddy.

Every year since the boys moved out, Alex and Geddy have gone on vacation. Sometimes they traveled to faraway cities like Honolulu, Rio, Glasgow, Frankfurt, and San Diego. Other times they'd take a quick flight to a city like Vancouver or somewhere along the coast of Maine. Alex recalls their trip to Honolulu where Geddy took him on a tour of various Magnum P.I. shoot locations. Geddy was always like that, eager to see all the landmarks and must-see tourist spots. Alex was more interested in the local cuisine.

He has been immeasurably lucky. Married to a loving, supportive spouse, raising two smart and successful kids, living in a house the envy of most of the world, jet-setting across the globe at least once a year. He wonders briefly if Geddy feels this blessed, too.

This trip feels like the right decision. He needs to get away from the case, away from the temptation of investigating Neil. Would Alex have given Neil's odd behavior a second thought if Geddy were home? Probably not.

The flight is mercifully short. The plane lands and taxis to the gate, and Alex grabs his bag. After renting a car and driving from the airport to Geddy's hotel, it's already nine o'clock. Alex doesn't feel like sleeping.

He finds Geddy's room and knocks. The door opens, and Geddy answers with a brilliant smile. "What are you doing here?" He's wearing one of Alex's faded Blue Jays t-shirts and plaid pajama pants. His hair is damp from the shower he must have taken earlier. Alex is close enough to smell the clean scent of his skin.

"Surprising you." Alex flashes his best charming grin.

"Well, I'm certainly surprised." Geddy lets Alex inside.

The room is pretty nice, including a mini-fridge and a small kitchen area. The bedsheets are rumpled, as though Geddy had been underneath them just moments ago. There's an overturned paperback on the night table.

"So I've been gone about ninety-six hours, and already you can't stand being apart?" Geddy smirks. "I'm supposed to be the one with attachment issues."

"You walked out on our honeymoon. I'm allowed to be clingy." Alex moves closer, pushing his fingers down underneath the elastic waist of Geddy's pants.

Geddy sort of melts under Alex's touch. He plucks open the buttons of Alex's shirt and captures his mouth. Alex lets Geddy pull him onto the bed, presses him into the warmth of the sheets, possessive and needy.

Geddy eases Alex's shirt off his shoulders. "Is this what you came here for?" he breathes into him, his fingers warm and familiar on Alex's skin.

"I came for _you_. Like always."

Geddy smiles and kisses him again, then his mouth's trailing down Alex's neck and over the curve of his shoulder, his hands grabbing anyplace he can. Geddy's fingers press into the sore spot beneath his ribs, and Alex gasps involuntarily, his body sort of spasming.

Geddy pulls away to look at him. "Your knee?" A decent guess, since Alex is pretty much on all fours here. But Alex is shirtless now, and Geddy is lying back on the bed, and whatever he sees on Alex's torso makes his eyes widen. "What happened to you?"

"Okay, now that's just rude. I know I'm not the skinniest guy around, but—"

Geddy sits up underneath Alex, forcing him to sort of straddle Geddy's legs. "Where did this come from?" he asks, tenderly running his fingers over the hideous, dark bruise that has bloomed over Alex's ribcage.

"Um..." Alex has no idea what to say. He's just about the worst liar in the world, and even if he weren't, Geddy has years of training in spotting a lie. This, however, does not stop Alex from attempting to dance around the truth. "Just a, uh, occupational hazard."

Geddy gives him _the look_. "Uh-huh." He jabs at the bruise with two fingers. Alex flinches and jerks away from the pain.

"Nice try," Alex says, wincing. "But I've already been tortured once today for information."

"Excuse me?"

Alex really needs to learn not to run his mouth. "Shit."

"Just what the hell are you investigating? You said, and I quote, 'I'm behaving myself.'"

"Well, I thought I was. But it doesn't matter. It's over. I'm out. I'm leaving this stuff to the professionals, which is what I should've done in the first place. Now, c'mon, my knee's starting to hurt."

Alex can see Geddy wants to argue the point, but for one reason or another he doesn't push, just lets Alex press him down and spread him open and slide inside of him.

While Geddy's legs are hooked around Alex's hips, Alex rocks in, slow and easy, and remembers their first time. The careful yet insistent touches, the fumble of experimentation, Geddy's soft laugh when Alex came hot and messy over his stomach. They are nothing like the cautious, awkward lovers they used to be. Now, Geddy digs his fingers in, nails dragging down Alex's back, unafraid to coax him into a harder or faster pace. He breathes dirty, ragged things at Alex's ear until they fall off the edge.

Geddy holds Alex as he shakes apart, arms wrapped around him and the warm softness of his breath against the slope of Alex's shoulder. He smoothes a hand through Alex's hair, and it feels like silent worship.

They lie there for a long while, no words exchanged, just quiet breaths and soft touches. Alex's knee eventually flares up. He rolls off of Geddy and onto the bed so they're lying side by side. Geddy throws an arm over Alex's stomach. Alex leaves it there.

"Tell me," Geddy says quietly.

Alex does. He plays with Geddy's fingers as he talks, and Geddy listens as though Alex's words are gospel. When Alex tells him about the visit from Brutus, Geddy's face loses a bit of color.

"Oh, Lerxst..."

"I'm fine," Alex assures him. "Just a little banged up."

Geddy shuts his eyes and takes a breath. "You could've been killed."

"But I wasn't."

Geddy turns onto his side. "You promise you're out of this? No more playing amateur detective?"

"Cross my heart."

"Why did you do it?"

"I thought it was the right thing to do. For Neil. For Adrian."

"There are always consequences, even when you think you're doing the right thing."

Alex wonders about that.

Geddy kisses his cheek and slings his legs over the side of the bed. "There's takeout in the mini-fridge," he says before disappearing into the bathroom.

"You're the best!"

* * *

_August 5_ _th_ _, 2005_

Alex wakes up alone in the morning. Geddy has always been inexplicably skilled at sneaking in and out of bed with nary a sound. Or maybe Alex was more exhausted than he thought. His body aches when he sits up, and it takes him a moment or two to dig the bottle of pills out from his suitcase.

After a quick shower and breakfast, Alex decides to go sight-seeing. He has seen enough cities to last him a lifetime, so he heads north until the buildings thin out and greenery takes their place.

He drives for about an hour, stopping in a quiet town for a quick fill-up at a nearly-deserted gas station. It's a small town, nothing extravagant or grandiose. It reminds Alex of his childhood before moving to Toronto. He had lived in Fernie for years before developing skill with a bat, and his parents, watching this potential career unfold, moved to the big city in hopes of giving him a better chance at the major leagues.

Alex looks down at the pavement, watching the patches of spilled gasoline form rainbow-covered amoeba shapes. The nozzle jumps in his hand, and he places it back on the pump, screws on the gas cap. He's about to get back inside the car when something hard presses into the middle of his back.

A male voice from behind him says, "Get in the car and drive. If you scream or try to signal to anyone, I will shoot you."

Alex remembers over ten years ago when Geddy had given the boys a rousing play-by-play of how to survive an abduction. Adrian was in middle school and had made some new friends who liked to walk to a nearby comic shop after class. Geddy, rather than forbid Adrian to go and vicariously make him want to go even more, laid down some ground rules.

Rule number one, of course, was don't fucking get kidnapped.

Which isn't really applicable here. The guy has a gun barrel pressed against Alex's back. It would be impossible to miss.

"My partner has your son," the man says. "One wrong move, and I'll give him permission to shoot Adrian."

The small stone of fear in Alex's chest expands, making it hard to breathe. Is this man telling the truth? Anyone could make that threat, knowing it would be effective. But does Alex really want to take the chance that this guy is bluffing?

"Who are you?" Alex says, his voice quaking.

"A friend of Neil's."

"Seriously? I already gave that big guy the disc. Don't you people talk to each other?"

The man jabs the gun into Alex's back. "Get in. I won't ask you a third time."

Alex unlocks the door and slides in. The man gets into the passenger's side, keeping the gun trained on him. Alex starts the car. He risks a glance at his kidnapper. The man is plain-looking, but he isn't wearing a mask. Alex gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Where are we going?"

"North."

Alex figures they're heading that way so this guy can kill him in a secluded area and dump his body in a river. But why? He doesn't know anything.

But maybe the kidnapper doesn't know that. Holy shit, he totally should. Alex needs to start talking, because nobody shoots someone who just _might_ know something, right? Before you head down the whole murder route, you'd want to be pretty certain.

Alex pulls out of the gas station and heads north as instructed.

Rule number two: stay calm. Alex is doing pretty well on this front. He's scared as hell, sure, but there's an odd calmness about him, his brain calculating an escape plan.

"Look, I don't know anything," Alex pleads. "Whatever was on that disc was password-protected. I never saw it. I gave it back to your associate."

"But you knew enough to look for it. Tell me everything you know."

So much for the 'I know nothing' game plan.

"Neil's into something bad, right? Performance-enhancing drugs? ...Regular drugs?"

The man's face gives away nothing.

"Whatever's on that disc is proof of it, right? A video of him taking steroids or buying them or snorting coke. I don't know. But it's something he wants to keep hidden."

The street they're on feeds onto a two-lane highway. Alex keeps driving, devoid of any instructions.

"Why don't you guys just destroy the disc?" Alex wonders. "Why didn't Neil? Why did he even have it? Unless... he's being blackmailed. And you guys are damage control."

The man's expression changes, but Alex doesn't know what it means. Fear? Confusion?

"So someone's blackmailing Neil with whatever's on this disc. He pays the ransom and gets the evidence in return. But how does he know the blackmailer didn't make copies? I mean, they're not really known for being honest people, right? What's to stop them from copying the disc ten or a hundred times and hitting him up for a ransom every couple years?"

"How do we know you didn't do the same? You could have easily made a copy of the disc and given it to your husband to decrypt with all the cops' resources."

So he knows Geddy is here, too. How? More importantly, how did this guy know to find Alex in Dartmouth?

"How did you find me?" Alex asks as they cross over a bridge. "I never told anyone where I was going. Not even Geddy."

"We've been watching you for a while," the man says, calmly.

Fear clenches Alex's heart like a fist, making his adrenaline go haywire. He tries to get a handle on it and think clearly. A question gnaws at his brain. If Neil's thugs have been watching Alex, this guy would have to know about Brutus' visit, right? And if he thinks Alex made a copy, wouldn't it be smarter to search his house? Or the hotel room Alex shares with Geddy, the room this guy clearly knows about if he managed to follow Alex all the way out here? Why not kidnap Geddy when he left this morning?

Something doesn't add up here.

Alex keeps driving, rolling down a well-worn, two-lane dirt road that leads them across a rather high promontory.

"You shouldn't have stuck your nose into this," the man says, and there's something different about his voice now. His hand fidgets with the gun, finger flexing on the trigger. Alex is afraid to say more, as though any extraneous words will supply the push he needs to squeeze that trigger.

Alex remembers rule number three: plan your escape. If he stays smart and careful, he might have the element of surprise on his side. It would be pointless to go for the gun. The kidnapper will be expecting that. What he won't be expecting is for Alex to try something borderline crazy.

Alex is currently in control of a vehicle, a vehicle capable of very high speeds and critical damage if driven the wrong way, say, into a tree or off a bridge or into a body of water. This guy is human, after all, and self-preservation is a near-impossible instinct to fight. In the event of an accident, his attention would be diverted, all focus on saving his own life. He wouldn't see it coming. But Alex would.

Alex ensures the windows are rolled up. There is a sizeable body of water on his right. The guardrail is nothing more than a low wooden fence that ends abruptly, leaving an unprotected space of land that, theoretically, a car could drive through and plummet into the water below. Alex is about to test this theory. God help him.

He jerks the wheel and hits the gas. The car is momentarily airborne for what feels like the longest three seconds of Alex's life. The man shouts, "What are you doing? You're crazy!" before the car crashes through the surface of the water.

The car is sucked down into the depths of the river, shades of muted green on all sides. Alex knows to wait until the water pressure levels out before attempting to escape a submerged vehicle. His captor, however, does not. The man yanks at the passenger door handle, attempting to shove the door open. It doesn't budge, sealed shut while the car slowly descends to the muddy floor of the river.

Alex tries to clamp down on the adrenaline surging through his veins. His body knows what his mind doesn't want to accept: this is about survival. He could die here.

While the man is distracted trying to work the door open, Alex throws an elbow to the back of his head. He can feel the clack of teeth through the blow, but it doesn't knock the guy out. It just pisses him off.

He whirls toward Alex, gun barrel pointed straight at him, and there is a deafening crack that blows every other sound in the world out of existence, a muzzle flash like a magnesium flare, then water is surging into the car over Alex's shoulder.

There is no sound, just the incessant ringing in Alex's ears and the manic pulse of his own heartbeat. The car is filling up impossibly fast with churning, angry water. The man abandons the gun somewhere below the passenger seat and uses both hands to try to shove his door open.

The car is almost entirely full now. There's no way Alex is letting him get out of here.

Alex grabs the man's shirt collar and bashes his elbow into his face. His nose snaps like a dried twig. Alex hits him again and flings him away. The man's skull bangs against the door, and he sinks under the water. Alex fumbles with his seat belt and takes a deep breath.

The bullet shattered the driver's side window, so Alex swims out. His shirt snags on a jagged piece of glass. Alex tugs free, frantically kicking and swimming toward the surface. He comes up for air, gasping desperately. The current sweeps him along, and Alex goes with it, searching for a shoreline.

He doesn't know how long he swims, but eventually he finds a shallow pool where the current slows, and he is able to crawl out of the water. Alex pulls himself ashore, hands manically grasping at the dead, browning grass at the water's edge. He's shaking, from the water dripping down his body, the adrenaline hammering through his veins, and the elation at being alive.

Shivering and choking up the brackish waters he swallowed, Alex takes in his surroundings. The river backs up against a trailer park. He digs into his water-logged jeans for his cell phone. No signal. Hell, no power. The thing's just a shiny paperweight now. Damn it.

Hopefully, someone in this trailer park has a phone he can use. Alex glances behind him at the water. He doesn't see his captor, but he's going to assume the guy's still out there. Best to keep moving.

He doesn't have to go far before flagging down a khaki Oldsmobile cruising through the park. An old bald man and a shirtless fat guy get out of the car. Alex puts on his best charming smile. "Hey, do you guys have a phone I could use? My car went into the—"

"I thought I told those shit-idiots to stop dumping those goddamn barbeques in the lake!" the old man grouses. Alex notices he's carrying a half-empty bottle of alcohol. Considering he emerged from the driver's side, this does not instill a lot of confidence.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Alex looks at the fat guy. "I just need to use a phone. I won't be any trouble."

The old man looks at his, uh, accomplice. "Get 'im in the car, Randy."

Alex blinks. "What—No!"

The fat guy—Randy—grabs Alex's arm and sort of forces him into the back seat. "Are you sure, Mr. Lahey?" he says, despite following the guy's orders anyway. "Maybe he really does just need to use a phone."

"Yes, please," Alex begs. "You will not believe the day I've had." The soreness from yesterday's beating and new pain from the car accident have created an exhaustion cocktail. His ears are still ringing, and Alex really wants to lie down.

Mr. Lahey ambles into the driver's seat. "Listen, Bo-Bandy," he says, and there's a drunken slur in his voice. "I know his type. We're gonna bring him back to Ricky and Julian, and let them know I'm on to whatever shit-tastic game they're playing."

Oh, Jesus Christ, the fun never fucking ends, does it?

"But Mr. Lahey," Randy whines, but he doesn't offer any more protests.

Mr. Lahey drives pretty decently for a guy who's likely drunk off his ass. He brings the car in front of a double-wide white trailer with a black car that's seen better days parked in the driveway. Mr. Lahey staggers up the trailer steps and bangs on the door while Randy hauls Alex out of the car.

"I just need a phone," Alex sort of sobs.

The trailer door swings open, and a guy about Alex's size with a brownish-red pompadour and ridiculous sideburns growls, "What the fuck do you want, Lahey?"

Mr. Lahey tugs Alex's arm. "I think this troublemaking prick belongs to you."

Pompadour chuckles. "You're such a goddamn drunk." He looks at Randy. "He's wasted right now, isn't he?"

"A little bit, yeah."

Two other men come to the door. One of them is a muscle-bound guy holding a glass of something alcoholic, his expression almost as tired as Alex feels. The other is short with glasses that magnify his eyes to almost an cartoonish degree. He takes one look at Alex, and recognition glosses over his face. "Holy fuck, boys, that's Alex Lifeson!"

Alex smiles, gives a little wave to his adoring fans.

Pompadour looks at Goggles. "The fuckin' baseball player?"

"That's the one."

"Holy shit," Pompadour laughs. "Get him in here." He sort of pulls Alex into the trailer.

"I know you're up to something," Mr. Lahey shouts through the screen door Pompadour has slammed in his face.

"Why don't you go home and have another drink," Pompadour yells back. "And you, put a fuckin' shirt on. You're disgusting."

"Frig off, Ricky!"

Alex's attention is on Goggles now, who is taking deep breaths and trying to calm his shit. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lifeson." He extends a hand, and Alex accepts it, because that's what you do. "My name's Bubbles. I'm a big fan."

"Nice to meet you, Bubbles. You wouldn't happen to have a phone, would you? My car ended up in the lake, and my cell phone's dead."

"The fuck were you doing in the lake?" Pompadour laughs again, joining the conversation after disposing of Lahey and Randy.

Bubbles' face goes red. "Shut up, Ricky!" he growls through his teeth.

Muscle-Bro takes a casual sip of his drink. "So you're the real deal, huh? I'm Julian, and my friend who sometimes forgets his manners is Ricky."

Ricky pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and lights up.

"Nice to meet you both. Like I said to Bubbles, I really need to use a phone."

"Tell me how you ended up in the lake," Julian says, like he's curious instead of skeptical.

"A guy kidnapped me."

"No shit?"

"So I drove into the lake," Alex explains, as though that's what any rational person would do.

"This guy's fucking awesome," Ricky says. He digs into the pocket of his track pants and pulls out a cell phone. "Here, you can use mine."

"If I weren't married, I would totally kiss you right now." Alex dials the number. He realizes he doesn't actually know how to properly report a crime to emergency services, despite being married to an ex-cop. That seems like something he should know.

When the dispatcher answers, Alex says, "Yeah, hi, um, so I was just kidnapped?"

"Is your captor with you now?"

"No, I got away."

"Do you know your location, sir?"

Alex covers the phone with a hand and looks at the trio. "Where are we?"

Julian says, "Sunnyvale Trailer Park."

Alex repeats the location into the receiver.

There's an odd moment of silence, then the dispatcher says, "Very funny, Jim. You know, this line is for actual emergencies. You can't keep calling the police every time Ricky or Julian look at you funny."

Alex's jaw drops. "No, no, you don't understand! My name is Alex Lifeson, I don't even know these guys, I just—"

Click.

No fucking way. This cannot be happening.

"They hung up," Alex whimpers in a tiny voice. He looks at Ricky, Julian, and Bubbles. "What the fuck goes on in this trailer park?"

"Are you serious? The cops won't even come here anymore?" Ricky laughs again; Alex is either very amusing, or Ricky has been sniffing gas.

Alex stares at the phone and debates calling Geddy. Geddy could contact the local police and have them dispatch a car or two to Alex's location. But that would mean telling Geddy what happened, and Alex really, really wants to avoid that as long as possible. It would just needlessly worry him, and Geddy has already been frightened enough by Alex's bruises.

If the cops won't come here, then Alex needs to go to them. Time is of the essence here; if the kidnapper escaped, who knows where he could be by now?

Alex finds his wallet and pulls out two wet ten dollar bills. "Twenty bucks to whoever gives me a ride to the police station."

"No shit?" Ricky grabs the money before anyone else can. "Easiest twenty bucks I've ever made. Bubs, you wanna ride?"

Bubbles blinks his gigantic eyes. "Fuck yeah, I wanna ride, Ricky. This is Alex Lifeson, the best goddamn second baseman that ever lived."

"Well, thank you." Blush, blush.

The black shit-mobile parked out front of the trailer apparently belongs to Ricky. The passenger side door is long gone, torn off in some sort of horrible mishap. The body is rusted beyond belief.

"Do I wanna know what happened to the door?" Alex asks as he gets inside.

"Wasn't me," Ricky says, starting the engine once Bubbles climbs into the back seat. Alex remains half-terrified he's going to fall out when the car starts moving. "Julian gave it to me like this. Really fuckin' sucks at night when you're tryin' to sleep and Bubbles' damn cats climb in all over you."

"You sleep in the car?"

"Yeah, I've done it for years. It's not so bad." Ricky looks at Alex. "Where the fuck are we going agan?"

"Jesus, Ricky," Bubbles groans, "the police station, remember?"

"Right, right." Ricky drives them out of the park and onto the main road. Alex tries not to look at the highway racing by underneath him. "So what're you doin' all the way out here? Don't you live in Toronto?"

"My husband's working a case in Dartmouth."

"Oh, shit, right, I forgot, you're a homosapien," Ricky says, taking a long pull off his cigarette.

From the backseat, Bubbles sighs like Ricky is just the _worst_. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lifeson, Ricky's a good guy, but he can be a real fuckin' idiot sometimes."

"What's this 'Mr. Lifeson' shit?" Alex chuckles. "Call me Alex."

"Decent," Bubbles whispers.

Ricky's got one hand on the wheel while the other digs into his pocket. "You want some weed?"

"Ricky, for fuck's sake, put that away!" Bubbles cries, reaching over the seat to bat Ricky's hand down.

"What, you think 'cause he's gay he doesn't wanna get stoned? Don't be such a fuckin' hemophiliac, Bubs. Gay people are just like us, except, y'know, gay."

God, getting stoned sounds _so_ good right now. "Sorry, guys, I'd love to toke up with you, but I don't think it's a good idea to go into a police station totally baked."

"Fine. Take one for the road," Ricky says, holding the joint out for him.

"What if they search me?"

"You're married to a fuckin' cop, right? Who cares? Famous people get away with all sorts of shit."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm still gonna pass."

Ricky stuffs the joint back into his pocket. "Whatever, man. You're missing out on some quality dope. Best shit I've ever grown."

"You grow your own weed?"

"Fuck yeah. I'm an entree-renewer."

Alex settles back in his seat. He's getting used to the sight of the road rushing under his feet. "So, uh, what's the deal with those other guys? Mr. Lahey and Randy?"

"Mr. Lahey," Ricky explains, "is the dickhead trailer park supervisor who's always trying to start shit with us. Randy is his assistant. He used to be a male prostitute, whoring himself out for fuckin' cheeseburgers." Ricky takes a long pull off his cigarette. "See, Mr. Lahey used to be a cop, at least 'til they fired his drunk ass. But he used to be one of Randy's customers. He's a homosapien too."

Bubbles groans. "It's 'homosexual,' Ricky."

"That's what I said."

Bubbles sighs.

Ricky is quiet for a moment, thoughtfully puffing on his cigarette. "You should've won that World Series, man. That knee injury was bullshit."

Alex shrugs. "It's baseball. Accidents happen."

"Some accident," Bubbles mumbles from the backseat.

"What's that?" Alex wonders.

"Yeah, Bubs, tell 'im your theory," Ricky prods.

"You have a theory?" Alex will take anything at this point, even though technically he's not supposed to be investigating anymore. But it might take his mind off the fact that he almost died less than twenty minutes ago.

"Well, I just think maybe that slide onto second base wasn't an accident after all. I think somebody paid somebody else to take out the best hitter on the Blue Jays."

"But why Neil?"

"'Cause he's a nice guy," Bubbles explains. "If they had some rude, nasty cocksucker to do it, it wouldn't look like an accident."

Baseball has always been a dirty game. Steroids and amphetamines have heavily impacted the ability of players since the 1950s, but athletes can still cheat without even touching them. Gaylord Perry, Baseball Hall of Fame inductee and two-time winner of the Cy Young award, openly cheated by continuously using an illegal pitch called the spitball. Most notably, Sammy Sosa and Albert Belle were both caught using corked bats; who knows how many more hitters used them and _didn't_ get caught? In 1951, The New York Giants stole signals from the Brooklyn Dodgers and used the information to cheat their way to a comeback, culminating in Bobby Thompson's now legendary home run dubbed "The Shot Heard 'Round the World." In 1919, the White Sox threw the World Series for cash.

Alex mulls this over. By 1987, the Cardinals and the Blue Jays were pretty heated rivals as far as World Series titles were concerned. The Cardinals won in '82, then lost out to the Jays in '83 and '85. So maybe Bubbles is right, and Alex's injury was intentional.

Could the answer really be something so obvious?

"It's a good theory," Alex says. "I don't know how much truth there is to it, but you might have something there."

They pull up to the police station a few minutes later.

"Thanks for the ride, guys," Alex says. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Ricky says.

Bubbles shakes his hand again as Alex gets out of the car. "It's an honor to meet you, Alex. You tell Adrian he's a damn good ballplayer too."

"I'll do that. Have a good one, Bubs."

As Alex walks up the walkway, he hears Bubbles' hushed voice: "Did you hear that, Ricky? He called me Bubs!"

* * *

Alex spends about thirty minutes inside the police station before Officer George Green drives him out to the spot where Alex went over and into the water. A special vehicle is used to drag the car out of the deep. Alex is ordered to wait in the back of the police cruiser while Officer Green inspects the newly-exhumed vehicle.

The car is slippery-shiny, the lower half covered in dark muck. Green peers into the passenger side window. Alex can't see inside the car, but from the look on Officer Green's face, whatever's inside isn't good. Horror strikes Alex in the chest.

Green comes back to the cruiser and speaks with Alex through the open window. "How many people were with you inside the vehicle?"

"What—Just me and the kidnapper." Alex doesn't understand why Green's asking again, but the realization clenches his heart before his brain officially catches up.

Green looks over his shoulder at the the car. "Well, I think we found him."

* * *

Officer Green says, "His name was Vic Wilson."

Alex is sitting in a cramped interrogation room at the Truro Police Department. Officer Green sits at the metal table, looking at papers inside a file folder. A detective stands by the door, a silent observer, here to ensure Green doesn't coerce a confession or other unsavory behavior that might get the department sued. A giant one-way mirror takes up half a wall. In it, Alex sees himself slumped in a chair, his clothes still damp and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

"His license says he lived in Toronto," Green continues. "He's in the system for a prior arrest back in '78. One of his known associates is a Ray Danniels. Does that name ring any bells?"

"No."

Alex killed someone. Granted, the guy kidnapped him and threatened him with a gun, but still. It had been both an accident and self-defense. Shouldn't Alex explain that? He wants to talk, wants to plead his case, but he knows better. You never have to take back words you don't say.

Should Alex ask for a lawyer instead? Or will that make him look guilty, like he has something to hide?

"Well, the gun found at the scene couldn't be traced back to Wilson," Green explains. "The serial number was filed off."

Alex hears the subtext there. If the gun couldn't be pinned on Wilson, it could just as easily belong to Alex.

But, if Alex had the gun, why would he fire it directly behind himself? Wouldn't it make more sense to shoot at Wilson instead?

"Why don't you tell me what happened again?"

Alex knows this is an attempt to trick him, to see if he changes his story now that the body has been discovered. Which seems pointless, because Alex was the one who reported the crime in the first place. If he intended for the body to be found, wouldn't he have told a different story to start with?

But Alex goes along with it, retreading the explanation of his kidnapping. Green's face gives away nothing. This is bullshit, Alex thinks. He's not the bad guy here. He hasn't done anything illegal. Stupid, maybe, but there's no crime against being a dumb-ass.

"You say you didn't know the deceased?" Green asks. So Wilson's the deceased now instead of, y'know, the kidnapper. "Then why would you get in the car with him?"

"He had a gun on me," Alex says, because he thinks that's pretty self-explanatory. "He threatened my son. I didn't have a choice."

"He wanted something from you, didn't he? Or are you telling me he just put a gun on you, told you to drive, and said nothing else until you drove the car into the lake?"

Alex tries not to squirm. It's time to tell him. He should have mentioned the connection to Neil when he first told Green about the abduction.

"It's probably not relevant," Alex starts, "but I was... investigating something. A friend of mine. Neil Peart."

Green lifts an eyebrow. "The guy who busted your knee?"

"He's my son's hitting coach now. I thought he might be in trouble, so I was looking into it."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I don't know. I had my suspicions, but I never found anything concrete." Alex isn't going to bother mentioning the disc here. If Wilson was willing to kill Alex to protect whatever was on that disc, it probably wouldn't have ended up in the cops' hands.

"So this Vic Wilson, I am to assume, didn't like the idea of you looking into this Peart character?"

"That's my theory. I never saw or talked to the guy before he jabbed the gun into my back."

Green steepled his fingers. "What are you doing in Nova Scotia, Alex?"

The subject change should have thrown Alex, but being with Geddy for twenty-plus years has taught him to roll with it. "My husband's in Dartmouth working on a case. I thought I'd pay him a visit."

"And it just so happens that Wilson followed you?"

"He said he and his associate were watching me. They must have bugged my house and learned about my flight here."

Green chews on that for a moment.

"You don't believe me," Alex says, impatient. "So if you've got a better theory, let me hear it."

Green doesn't have time to speak, because the door bursts open and Geddy steps inside as though the room has insulted him.

"Lerxst, get up. We're leaving."

Green looks at Geddy like he's a vagrant urinating in his garden. "And you are?"

Geddy flips open a badge. "Detective Geddy Lee. Toronto Police. Is my husband under arrest?"

"Well, we're hoping that it won't—"

"Yes or no."

"Surely you understand the protocols involved—"

"Doesn't matter. If you wanted to arrest him, you would have." He drops a hand on Alex's shoulder. "C'mon, we're going."

Alex wonders how the hell Geddy found him here. He scoots back in his chair and stands up. "Are you guys gonna tell me not to leave town? Or is that a cliché?"

"Lerxst," Geddy growls under his breath, and Alex knows he's in serious trouble. Not with the cops, necessarily, but with his husband.

Geddy sort of drags him out of the room. Neither of them say a word to each other until they're in Geddy's rental car. Geddy sits and stews in silence in the driver's seat, his jaw clenched in that way of his when he's angry but doesn't want to show it. Alex has seen Geddy like this a handful of times during their relationship, and it never fails to unnerve him.

"You're really sexy when you're in charge," Alex says, because he can't stand the tense silence.

Geddy's mouth twitches. He huffs an angry noise and slaps Alex's arm.

"Ow! Okay, you're always sexy! _Obviously_!"

"I'm gone for a couple hours and you manage to get yourself kidnapped? Are you _trying_ to piss me off?"

Alex avoids answering that by asking, "How did you hear what happened?"

"Cops talk, Alex. And they were all too happy to inform me that my dumb-ass husband almost got himself killed in the middle of nowhere."

"You didn't have to come here. I would've been fine."

"Because you were doing so well at keeping yourself out of trouble already."

Alex is furious at Vic for kidnapping him, for trying to kill him, at Geddy for scolding him and how angry it makes him that Geddy is right. "Fine, Ged. You win. I screwed up. You get to be the mayor of I-Told-You town."

"You don't get it, do you?" Geddy says, his voice lined with steel. His soft-spoken patience is gone now. "You wouldn't want a cop stepping up to the plate in the bottom of the ninth, so what makes you think you can do _my_ job, you arrogant ass? You can't just decide to play junior detective one day because you're bored. This is a dangerous job. For you to jump into this without even thinking about the consequences—" His hands tighten around the steering wheel, presumably because he can't wrap them around Alex's neck.

Alex doesn't know how to respond to that. An apology feels like the right thing to say, but it gets caught in his throat on the way out.

Geddy turns away, his breathing going funny. "I could have lost you... Do you have any idea what that would do to me?"

Alex thinks about how he would feel if their positions were reversed, and his heart starts to ache. "Ged... I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know. It's not your fault. I'm just— I don't have anyone else. If I lost you, I'd have to be strong for the boys. But there's no one to be strong for me."

Alex feels his throat swell. He doesn't know if words will help or hurt, so he places a gentle hand on Geddy's thigh, hoping the touch will convey the depth of his emotion.

Geddy sniffles, swallows down a gulp that's too loud in the soundless car. He's quiet for a moment, then, in a tiny voice: "I'm still mad at you."

They drive back to Dartmouth in a quiet, almost comfortable silence. Alex feels like he's on the precipice of something unknown here. His encounter with Vic is still bouncing around in his head, but he's too distracted by Geddy's hurt and anger to focus on it.

When they get back to the hotel, Alex strips out of his wet clothes that reek of algae and murky water and steps into the shower. The hot spray relaxes him almost immediately, his muscles warmed and awakened by the steam.

It's at this point the fact that he almost died catches up to him. He hadn't really thought about it until now—a side effect of too much crazy shit happening at once—but Alex's life was in peril not once but twice today: one instance his own doing. Driving into the water probably saved his life, but it was still a hell of a gamble.

Geddy had accused him of being arrogant and reckless, and there's definitely some truth to that. Arrogance is a vital part of an athlete's repertoire, but it still has to be harnessed properly. Alex didn't even consider that he might be stumbling into something dangerous here, and it almost cost him his life.

Alex stays there under the spray of water for a long time, contemplating his own mortality. His train of thought is eventually disrupted by the sound of the bathroom door clicking open. He doesn't give it much thought, figures Geddy's just coming in to grab something. Alex does not consider that Geddy might be in here to grab _him_.

Geddy pushes the fabric curtain aside and joins Alex under the water. Alex can't help but notice that Geddy is naked. Even after all these years, the sight of him still makes Alex's heart flutter and his stomach flip in fascination.

"I thought you were mad at me."

Geddy silences him with a kiss. Then a hungrier one. Alex clutches onto him for dear life. Geddy's mouth trails down Alex's throat, his chest, his stomach, then lower still, and Alex tips his head back against the tile and surrenders to the wet-hot euphoria.

When they're finished under the water, they move to the bed, where Geddy channels his frustration into a healthier, more enjoyable release for both of them. Alex pulls him in, taking everything Geddy has to give. Geddy pays special attention to Alex's nipples, does that tongue-swirl and nibble thing that drives him crazy, and this particular combination of nipple-play, breathy, open-mouthed kisses, and greedy thrusts sends Alex over the edge of bliss.

Later, much later, they lie in bed together, Alex flat on his back with Geddy's head resting on his chest. Alex lives for these quiet little moments, the soft intimacy of Geddy's breath on his skin, of tracing along the valley of his spine.

"Tell me what happened," Geddy says, soft and quiet.

So Alex does. Geddy listens without interrupting, just brushes his fingers over Alex's skin while he talks. Geddy has always had a tender post-coital manner, as though his gentle touch is an apology for his occasional roughness, for the way he sometimes shoves Alex into the mattress, as though Alex wasn't the one egging him on every time.

"I killed someone," Alex says after a while. He's still coming to grips with that, still dazed from facing down the Grim Reaper.

"Someone who was going to kill you."

"I always thought it would be you who would kill in self-defense. 'Cause of your job."

Geddy lifts his head to look at him. "You didn't do anything wrong. The evidence will show that. Once they get the security camera footage and track down his associate... The other guy will probably roll over on him if it means avoiding criminal charges."

Alex nods. Geddy lays his head back down on Alex's chest. His warmth feels good against the calm rhythm of Alex's heartbeat.

"Did he say anything useful?" Geddy asks. "About whatever you were investigating."

"He said they'd been watching me for a while. Not sure how they would know to watch me in the first place. How did they know I was investigating Neil?"

"You told me you had lunch with him."

"Yeah... I did." That piece of information feels important somehow, but Alex can't figure out how. "So they were watching me and decided to put a bug on my place?"

"Not you. Neil. This all comes back to him."

"Okay, so they see us having lunch, and afterwards they approach him about the blackmail? And that suddenly makes him push me away?"

Geddy rolls off of Alex and stretches to reach over the edge of the bed. "Why don't we take a look at the phone records you asked me for? They're for Neil's number, right?" He reemerges with a small stack of papers stapled together.

"I thought you were mad at me for investigating this."

"Well, you were unsupervised," Geddy says with a small smile. He sets the papers on Alex's stomach and slides out of bed. "Besides, there might be something in here to help find Vic Wilson's associate."

Geddy steps into his boxers—Alex tries to keep his tongue in the vicinity of his mouth—and fetches his laptop on the table across from the bed. He powers on the computer, dropping onto the bed beside Alex.

"So what do we do?"

"Oh, man, you're really hopeless, aren't you?" He settles the laptop on top of his thighs. "Well, if Neil started acting weird after he had lunch with you, it stands to reason someone might have contacted him in that time."

Geddy shows him how to look up phone numbers using the internet. A reverse look-up search can provide a location, sometimes even a name and address for any phone number. He plugs in a few numbers, each turning up underwhelming results. Then: "Oh, hello."

Geddy points to a number on the page. Directly beneath it is the call to Alex. The timestamp reads 12:24 p.m. The call lasted three minutes. "Did Neil take any calls while you were at lunch?"

Alex shakes his head.

"Did he step out of sight long enough to take a three-minute call?"

Another head shake. "He didn't leave the table until he actually left the restaurant."

"So he called you around ten a.m. You met for lunch when?"

"Eleven. He left around noon 'cause he had to be at the stadium by two."

Geddy types the number into the search engine. Private number.

Alex peers over Geddy's shoulder at the screen. "Does that mean something?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Some people contact these sites and request their information be taken down. Doesn't mean they're into anything illegal. But the timing of the call is suspicious." Geddy trails his finger down the page until he reaches the bottom, turns the sheet over and does the same. "I don't see that number listed anywhere else." He turns more pages, searching for a clue. "So the only time that person calls Neil in months is after he has lunch with you?"

"So?"

"So why would it matter that Neil had lunch with you? He probably meets with plenty of people in his line of work—players, other coaches, managers, team owners."

Alex sees where he's going with this. "After almost twenty years, Neil suddenly meets with me. It makes them suspicious..."

Geddy, who has been looking at the screen, suddenly snaps toward Alex. "Why don't you call that number? It might lead to Vic's associate. We bring him in, get more pieces of the puzzle."

"'We'?"

"Well, Toronto PD," Geddy says, sheepish. "I can't have too much involvement in this. Conflict of interest, y'know."

"How do we know the number doesn't belong to the dead guy?"

"We don't, but I figure the mastermind behind this whole thing wouldn't do grunt work himself. He'd get someone else to do it for him."

"So killing me is 'grunt work'?"

Geddy rolls his eyes. "If the number leads to the associate, pretend that you're someone interested in whatever they've got on Neil. Set up a meet for tomorrow. I can call Broon and have him send some undercover guys to do a sting. Once he's in custody, we can get a look at his phone or bank records."

Alex looks at him. "Don't you have an actual job to do?"

"It's pretty slow going. Mostly chasing down leads, which we don't have many of. I can't imagine they'll need me here much longer." Geddy nudges Alex's arm. "Go on. Call the number. Or would you rather I do it?"

"You might sound too much like a cop. Might scare 'em off."

Geddy nods in consideration and hands Alex his cell phone from the night table.

Alex dials the number. It rings once before someone picks up. "Articulate."

Oh boy.

"I hear you're the guy to talk to about buying dirt on Neil Peart."

"How did you find me?"

"Your associate. I've been trying to get ahold of him, but he's not answering. But he gave me this number once as another way to get in touch with him." That sounds a little sketchy, so he says, "Name your price."

"Half a million."

Alex holds back a whistle. That's some pretty serious dough. But maybe Ray wants to hit hard and fast before going into hiding. He might have heard about his partner's untimely demise, or at least assumed Vic didn't make it back from his mission.

"You got it. When and where?"

"Tomorrow. Two o'clock. 41 Northline, Toronto. Parking lot in back of the abandoned building."

"How will I recognize you?"

"You'll know." Click.

Alex hangs up and relays the information to Geddy, who slides out of bed and places a call of his own to Broon. Geddy paces the floor as he talks, a nervous habit that Alex finds endearing to watch.

Geddy spends a good ten minutes explaining Alex's kidnapping and the situation with Neil to Broon, his voice holding an edge of exasperation, like all of this should be common knowledge.

When Geddy's finished, he drops the phone onto the night table and gives Alex a nervous smile. "Well, we did it. Broon said he'll do the undercover operation." Geddy clears the papers and laptop off of the bed before sliding in alongside Alex. "I may not be making much headway on the serial, but at least this seems to be wrapping up nicely."

"See? I'm useful. I gave you a new puzzle to solve."

"Oh, you're _very_ useful," Geddy purrs, grabbing Alex underneath the sheets.

* * *

_December 1983_

"Are you offended by this at all?" Alex wondered as he and Geddy wrapped Christmas presents for the boys. Alex's living room looked like Disney World's Christmas Parade threw up. The mantel was lined with tinsel and stockings, the enormous tree decorated with enough lights and ornaments to double as a disco ball.

"I mean, I don't even know what religion you are," Alex continued. "Or aren't."

"I'm not offended," Geddy said. "It's nice. It's been a very long time since I had someone to give gifts to." His brow creased in distress for a moment. "I was raised Jewish, but... My parents were both survivors of the Holocaust. They came here, started a family, then my mother lost her husband. Then she was killed. On top of all that, the things I see on this job... If God's out there, what's wrong with him? Why doesn't he help when all these good, decent people are being violated and killed?"

Alex wasn't going to touch that one. "Well, I'm not religious either, so I guess that makes two of us." He chuckled, nervously fidgeting with a scrap of wrapping paper. "But, um, the boys have two Christmases. One with Charlene's parents, and one with mine. I was wondering... would you want to come with us?"

He forced himself to look at Geddy, to read the emotion on his face, for better or worse. They'd only been dating under a year, and Alex wasn't sure what the etiquette was for bringing your boyfriend to meet your parents when you were already sort of married.

Geddy blinked, his small eyes widening. "Are you—really? Me?"

"It's a dumb idea, isn't it? Forget it, I shouldn't have—"

"Where do your parents live?"

Alex was thrown by the question. "They moved back to Fernie after I bought their old house. It's a nice place. Lakefront. Looks like a ski lodge, kinda."

"Do they know about your"—Geddy searched for a polite word—"situation?"

"That I'm hiding my homosexuality with a fake marriage? Yeah."

Geddy chewed his lower lip, thinking it over. "Maybe I shouldn't. It'd be awkward, right? I mean, I don't know your parents, and I'd just be imposing..."

Alex reached out and took Geddy's hands in his own. "So you'd rather spend the holidays moping in that dreary apartment of yours while everyone else is spending time with their families? Ged, you're part of my family. If you want to be. I wouldn't invite you into a situation where my parents would make a scene and wail 'I have no son' all dramatic-like."

"Have you ever brought a man over before?"

"Well, no."

"So you don't know for sure there won't be any dramatics."

"It's highly unlikely."

Alex eventually wore Geddy down, because he agreed to spend three days in Alex's parents' woodland retreat. Alex's mother—"just call me Aunt Milka"—welcomed Geddy with open arms, kissing his cheek like a grandmother you only see at family reunions. She quickly grabbed him away from Alex and led him through the house for a tour.

Alex's father, Nenad, was clearly not thrilled with his son dating another man, but it wasn't like he flipped the table and went on an alcohol-fueled rant about "the gays."

Dad refused to part with his gas grill. Mom was on a health-food kick. So Christmas Eve dinner consisted of two camps: the healthy side (pasta salad, fruit salad, grilled chicken, honey-baked salmon), and the not-so healthy (cheeseburgers, bratwurst with beer mustard, barbecue beans).

Alex and Geddy drank cherry vodka in the living room with Dad while the boys helped Mom in the kitchen with dessert. Dad asked Geddy questions about being a detective. "Is it like that TV show Columbo?"

"Not as glamorous," Geddy said.

"How long have you been a cop?"

"Six years."

Dad scratched his beard. "You don't look much like a cop."

Alex sighed.

"I get that a lot. But sometimes it's a good thing. Helps establish a rapport without saying a word. You don't know how many times I've been told 'you remind me so much of my son' by older women I've interviewed. I've also been invited for a lot of tea and cookies."

"Do you just talk to little old ladies all day?" Alex teased. "Is that your job?"

"On the good days." Geddy stood up. "I'm getting a refresher," he said, jostling the ice in his drink. "Top you off, Lerxst?"

"Sure." Alex handed him the glass, watched him walk away with a bit too much interest.

Dad cleared his throat.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Dad said, his eastern European accent more pronounced. "As long as you are happy, I don't mind what you do. Or who."

Alex smiled. "Keep telling yourself that, and maybe you'll believe it."

"Always with the smart remarks."

For dessert, they ate mint brownies and drank hot chocolate. Mom showed Geddy a photo album full of pictures of Christmases past, of vacations, weekends, cookouts. But mostly embarrassing childhood photos of Alex. Geddy smiled and laughed, and Alex felt himself falling deeper and deeper in love.

Later, Alex and Geddy walked through the wooded area in the backyard. The sun was setting, snow crunching beneath their boots as they walked. Alex held Geddy's hand.

"Where are we doing out here?"

"Lookin' for Samsqantch."

Geddy made his confused face. "I think it's pronounced Sasquatch."

Alex laughed. "When I was growing up here, there was a guy who lived in one of the houses on the other side of these woods. He was one of my dad's fishing buddies. He'd walk through the woods with a hunting rifle, wearing camouflage like he was hunting deer. I'd ask him, 'what're you doing?' and he'd say, 'lookin' for Samsqantch.' Every single time, without fail." He breathes fog into the winter air. "I wonder if he ever found him."

Alex looked over at Geddy, who was staring at something in the distance.

"What?"

"There's a cardinal on that tree branch," Geddy said.

"Boo, hiss." Alex grinned.

They kept walking. "You weren't afraid to go into the woods when you were younger?" Geddy asked.

"Not really. Are you afraid right now?"

"I'm not afraid of imaginary monsters. I've seen what people do."

Alex sort of rolled his eyes. "You only think the world is full of evil because that's the premise of your job. Cops don't investigate nice things. But that doesn't mean the nice things don't exist. For example, if it wasn't for your job, you wouldn't have met me." He smirked like he'd scored a point.

"Point taken. But I never said the world is full of evil. Just that there's no reason to be afraid of Bigfoot."

"His name is Samsqantch, Geddy," Alex said, faking indignation.

After a moment, Geddy said, "Thank you for inviting me. You have a wonderful family."

"My parents think you're pretty great, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, my mom brought out the photo albums. That means she likes you."

"Well, I'll try not to disappoint her."

Alex wanted to tell Geddy he loved him, but his mind raced with fear of rejection. What if Geddy didn't love him back? Then they'd have to spend two days marinating in the awkward aftermath of an unrequited confession.

Although, that wouldn't mean Geddy could never love him. Just that, at the present moment, he did not. It was, of course, still early in their relationship. Geddy was much more emotionally guarded than Alex, who fell in love like a kamikaze pilot.

It was then that Geddy stopped walking and said softly, "I love you." Just like that. As though he'd been thinking it over too. "It scares the hell out of me, but I do."

Geddy would have only risked such vulnerability if he knew Alex felt the same. Alex could not stop smiling. "I love you too."

Alex took Geddy in his arms and held him close. They stood there in the snow, neither one moving, and Alex felt blessed to be in this moment, to have the most wonderous of gifts for himself.

* * *

_August 6_ _th_ _, 2005_

Alex wakes up the next morning blissfully sore. Geddy was particularly insatiable last night—or, rather, yesterday—which is pretty typical for him when he's making good progress on a case, but almost losing Alex was the secret ingredient needed to create a heady cocktail of arousal.

On the night table is a handwritten note from Geddy:

_Please behave yourself today. The hotel has a restaurant, a bar, a gym, free HBO and wi-fi. If you can't get it delivered to the room, you don't need it. Love you – Geddy_

Seven years after the boys have moved out, and Geddy still signs notes with his name, as though anyone else could have written it.

Alex decides to follow Geddy's orders today. He stays in the room and keeps himself entertained by watching TV and reading one of the paperback novels Geddy brought along. He eats last night's leftover takeout for lunch, orders pizza for dinner.

At some point in the afternoon, Geddy calls. "Ray Danniels is officially in police custody," he says after Alex answers. Alex can hear the excitement in his voice. "If they can't pin any of the other charges on him, they can definitely get him for shooting at an undercover officer."

"Whoa. What?"

"Apparently, your call made Ray suspicious that he was being double-crossed by his partner. So he came to the meet prepared to shoot the buyer. Luckily, our buyer was wearing a bulletproof vest."

Alex thinks Neil might appreciate learning about his blackmailers' fates.

"That's great, Ged. I'm glad this is all working out. And to think it only took me getting kidnapped."

"I asked Toronto PD to look into Danniels' bank accounts. I told them I thought he might have paid his partner to kill you, but I'm looking for something else."

"Care to share?"

"It's just a hunch..." Geddy's voice goes oddly soft. "I'll tell you about it later. Stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Sure. Love you."

* * *

Night has already fallen when Geddy receives the fax from Toronto PD. He rolls his chair over to the machine and reads the paper as it's being transmitted.

Ray Danniels had a few offshore accounts listed under aliases. The account activity prints out with the most recent first. There isn't a lot of activity for the past ten years, a few deposits here and there. Nothing that would raise eyebrows.

Geddy scans down the pages, looking for something in particular to confirm his hunch. He hopes to find it, yet also hopes he doesn't.

Alex had told him the disc was labeled "Peart, '87." So it stands to reason that whatever is on the CD was recorded or discovered in 1987. The blackmailers hatched their little scheme, confronted Neil with the evidence, and kept copies for future blackmail purposes. They probably hit him up for money during the NLCS or the World Series, at a time when it would be crucial for Neil to keep any hint of a scandal quiet.

Geddy's eyes trail down the page. Then, he spots it: a huge deposit in Danniels' account. Then another. And another.

The dates of the deposits, however, confirm his worst fear.

* * *

Alex has been bored and restless all day, so when Geddy finally comes through the door to the hotel room, he practically pounces on him like an eager puppy. "Hey, you." Alex kisses Geddy's mouth before he can respond. Geddy just sort of stands there.

"Lerxst..." Geddy sighs when his mouth is free.

Alex misinterprets this as a sexy sort of sigh and licks the hollow of Geddy's throat. Geddy's barely able to shrug off his shoulder bag before Alex kneels at his feet and fumbles with the button of his jeans.

Geddy makes a sad noise in his throat and gently pushes Alex away.

Alex glances up at him. "You want a shower first?"

Geddy shakes his head, and Alex could swear he sees tears in his eyes.

"I have something to show you," Geddy says.

"Sure." Alex sits on the bed, watching him as though Geddy's about to perform a strip tease.

Geddy just picks up his bag and lugs it over to the bed where Alex waits. He digs inside and produces a stack of papers. "I don't want to show you this," Geddy starts, his voice wavering. "But I remember what you said once about how the lie never leaves you. You started investigating this because you wanted to know the truth. Do you still want that?"

"I didn't get kidnapped for nothin'. Tell me. Whatever it is, I can handle it."

Geddy looks at him for a long time before speaking again. He looks down at the papers in his hands. "I got the records from Danniels' bank accounts. There's a couple large deposits on the same date that add up to about $40,000. That date is October 27th. I'm willing to bet if we get ahold of the dead man's records that his accounts will have deposits for the same amount. I looked it up: $80,000 is a nice round figure of the winners' share for the 1987 World Series."

Geddy lifts his fingers to his mouth, gnawing on a cuticle. "So Neil pays the blackmailers two days after the World Series, two days after his team wins the trophy. Or maybe he waited one day and they made the deposit the next day. Did you ever get your winnings the next day?"

Alex shakes his head. "No way."

"Which means Neil had to ask for an advance. He _needed_ that World Series money to pay them off." Geddy wipes his eyes and looks at Alex. "At the time of the seventh game, the Cardinals and Blue Jays were tied. The championship could have gone to anyone. But Neil had to make sure his team won. How could he do that?"

Alex doesn't want to keep following this train of thought, but there's no way to stop him now. He had wondered why Neil stayed away from him for eighteen years. Why Neil had let the guilt eat at him for so long. Why Neil looked so pained that day at his hospital bedside.

"He hurt me on purpose."

The air is suddenly heavy. Tears fill Alex's eyes. Something in his chest dries up and blows away.

"No, no," Alex says, suddenly finding words. "That wouldn't—Hurting one player doesn't guarantee a win." He hears how flimsy that sounds, even in his own ears.

"What else could he do? He couldn't pay his team to incapacitate the Blue Jays. He couldn't pay the Jays to throw the game. All of that would look suspicious. And he didn't have the money anyway. But injuring one player? Accidents happen all the time, especially when sliding onto base. He had to take out the Blue Jays' best hitter, all while making it look like an accident."

Bubbles' theory had been correct after all. He might have taken a different avenue to get there, but the destination is the same: Neil hurt Alex intentionally.

Alex shakes his head, as though he can shake away what he's just heard.

Geddy wraps an arm around Alex's shoulders, hugging him tightly. "I'm so sorry."

Alex burrows into Geddy's embrace, at a loss for how to feel. Geddy caresses Alex's bad knee as though it's a wounded baby bird.

Alex shivers.

* * *

_One week later..._

The Cardinals are playing at Busch Stadium tonight. Adrian has sent Alex and Geddy tickets to the game, but watching his son play isn't the only reason Alex is here.

After the game, Adrian manages to get Neil to meet with both Alex and Geddy. The four of them stand in the home team's dugout. Geddy leans against the wall with his arms crossed. Mr. Casual.

The stadium lights are still on, though the stands are empty. Workers toil on the field, resurfacing it for tomorrow's game.

"First of all," Alex starts, "you're safe. The guys who were blackmailing you are either dead or in police custody. You don't have to worry about them anymore."

Neil stiffens, his eyes widening. "I don't think Adrian should hear this."

"No, I think he deserves to know that you injured his father on purpose."

Neil's face sort of caves in.

"I don't know what kind of dirt they had on you, but it was big. Big enough to destroy your career. My guess is they approached you during the World Series. For whatever reason—bad investments, a recent big purchase, whatever—you didn't have all the money they asked for. So you begged for an extension. They were greedy, so they said yes. I don't know the details. I don't think they're particularly relevant. What is relevant is that you intentionally slid into me and busted my knee in order to win the World Series and secure the winnings so you could pay them off."

Neil's lower lip quivers, his eyes misty.

"Holy shit," Adrian murmurs.

"Geddy found the bank accounts for the blackmailers. $40,000 each. You won about $80,000 for that championship, didn't you?" Alex says. "Your guy Brutus sucker-punched me for that disc. Then one of the blackmailers abducted me. I had to do some things I'm not proud of to escape, so I think I'm owed the truth when I ask: what the hell is on that disc?"

"They kidnapped my daughter!"

Neil looks exhausted by the outburst, as though he never meant to just blurt it out like that. He drops onto the bench, his head in his hands.

Alex is thrown by this new piece of information. Is it the truth, or is Neil trying to wiggle his way out of a tight spot?

"My daughter, Selena," Neil says, dazed. "You have it pretty much right about the money and the injury. But they were blackmailing me for my daughter. Selena was only a few months old. My wife, Jackie, was at home with her. I was in Toronto for the World Series. She called me in tears, telling me she woke up that morning and our daughter was gone. The kidnappers had called with ransom demands. They asked for $80,000, like they had extrapolated the last couple Series and knew that would be the winners' share."

Neil stops, takes a few breaths.

"I couldn't admit to her that I didn't have the money. I had made some bad investments, and on top of that, with the new baby... I'd bought Jackie's parents a house in our neighborhood so they could be closer and help her with Selena while I was away. All I had was $25,000. They said that wasn't enough." His voice is softer now. "So I told them I would make sure the Cardinals won the championship."

"Did you or your wife report the kidnapping to the police?" Geddy asks. Alex had almost forgotten he was even there.

Neil shakes his head, blinking away tears. "They said if we got cops involved they would kill Selena. I've gone through it a hundred times since then, trying to imagine how I should have played it. I know they wanted the money and probably wouldn't have killed her. But I couldn't risk my daughter's life on their greed."

Alex understands.

"Why not report the kidnapping after you got your daughter back?" Geddy says.

"Because I couldn't. They said if we told the police, they would kill Selena or Jackie or both of them. I couldn't risk that. They'd already managed to take my daughter once."

"Well, one's dead now, and the other is going to prison for a long time," Alex points out.

"It's been eighteen years," Neil argues. "By now any fingerprints or hairs or whatever are gone, so no evidence there. The kidnappers used voice changers when they called. Selena was only a baby then; she wouldn't have remembered what happened. So what kind of case would I have?"

Alex crosses his arms over his chest. "So tell me about the disc. How many times have they dipped into the bank of Peart since then?"

"Just this once. After I had lunch with you."

Alex knew that was important.

"Right after I left the restaurant, one of them called me. He warned me against getting too close with you. He told me about a disc with proof that I intentionally hurt you during that game. Said the price was $50,000 to make it go away."

"What were they afraid of?" Alex wonders. "Why was it important to them that you met with me?"

"They thought I might have been confessing the truth after all these years," Neil says. "You're married to an ex-detective. If the three of us worked together, we might have been able to unravel their entire operation."

"But you were afraid for Selena," Geddy says, mulling it over. "So you kept quiet, pushed Alex away. Which, of course, only made him more curious."

Neil looks at Alex. "I never meant to hurt you that badly. I just wanted you on the bench for that one game. But I would do anything to protect my family. Wouldn't you? What would you have done in my position?"

Alex doesn't have to think. He knows.

"What's on the tape, Neil?"

The disc is at Neil's house, so that's where they go. Selena is spending the night at a friend's house. Jackie is already asleep in the upstairs bedroom. Neil leads the three of them into the family room. He opens the computer and inserts the disc. He types in the password, referencing a sticky note on the jewel case. The password is a string of random numbers and letters Alex never would have guessed in a million years.

There's a few seconds of silence, then Neil's voice comes from the speakers, a crackly and aged recording: _"Hello?"_

The voice of the blackmailer is indeed altered, almost robotic. _"Do you have the money?"_

" _All I have is $25,000."_

" _We asked for eighty."_

" _I know, I know, wait—don't—I can get it. I promise. I'll win the World Series."_

" _How?"_

" _Shit, I don't know. I can—I can take out Lifeson. Slide on base, take out his knee. He's their star hitter. Losing him would send them scrambling. I'll take out the whole team if I have to. Just give me one more game. Please. You'll get your money."_

Alex's hands tighten into fists despite himself. Even with Neil's sympathetic motive, Alex is still devastated that someone would hurt him on purpose.

The blackmailer speaks again: _"Well, Neil, we'll just see about that."_

" _I need proof. I need proof my daughter is still alive before you see a cent."_

" _She's fine."_ A baby can be heard in the background, softly cooing. _"Remember, no cops. Come alone."_

The recording shuts off. Alex tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry.

"This is really fucked up," Adrian says.

"I'm not proud of any of this," Neil says after a silent moment. "But I did what I had to do to protect my daughter." He looks at Alex and Geddy. "Either one of you would have done the same thing."

"You couldn't let the tape get out," Alex says, "because it's proof you planned the 'accident.' The Commission would take away the Cardinals' win that year, and you'd be banned from the MLB. You'd be out of work. Your legacy would be tainted."

"And it would all be for nothing," Geddy says, "because the blackmailers probably made sure you couldn't find them using the disc."

It's sometimes said that baseball is a metaphor for life. What Neil did here is trample over the foul line, enough to blur the distinction between right and wrong, between fair and foul.

Neil spreads his hands. "I won't hurt you any further, Alex. Whatever retribution you want to take, you've earned it."

Alex stares at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter anymore." He turns to leave, taking Geddy's hand in his own.

"Wait, what?" Adrian says. "He just admitted to destroying your career, and you don't even care?"

"It was almost twenty years ago. I'm over it. Neil didn't know he was gonna injure me so badly. But it brought me closer to you and your brother and Geddy. I wouldn't change it. And I'm not going to punish him for it."

"He was trying to protect his daughter," Geddy murmurs. He looks at Adrian. "I would do the same for you. Or Justin."

Alex glances over his shoulder at Neil, who's still slumped in his chair like the world's saddest man. "It's over, Neil. You don't have to worry about the blackmailers anymore. The truth will never come out unless you're the one who tells it. And why would you? You did all of this to protect your family. Saying a word about it would destroy what you worked so hard to keep."

Neil nods. Alex takes one last look at him before leaving.

* * *

Adrian lets Alex and Geddy spend the night at his house. The house is mid-sized with country-style decorating, though Adrian insists the place came that way and he hasn't had time to decorate or remodel. They eat leftover take-out in a cramped, galley-style eat-in kitchen with brick wall accents. Alex still cringes at the tiny, almost negligible cooking space. Clearly, Adrian did not inherit his father's kitchen-related prowess.

"You never told me you got kidnapped," Adrian says, looking at Alex. "Or that a dude beat you up."

"I didn't want to worry you, which was a good call, because look at you. You're worried _now_."

Adrian rolls his eyes, embarrassed. "You guys always thought it'd be me or Justin who got kidnapped."

"At least you two listened to my advice," Geddy says.

"Hey, I listened!" Alex argues. "That's probably how I survived in the first place."

"I'm sure it had nothing to do with you driving into a lake."

This, apparently, is news to Adrian. "What?"

Alex sighs, slumping a little in his seat. "Ged..."

They bicker for a while until around midnight when Adrian retires for the evening. "If I hear any questionable noises, I'm burning this house down," he warns before leaving them alone in the guest bedroom.

"He's joking," Alex points out once Adrian is gone, looping his arms around Geddy's waist. "You'll just have to be a little quieter."

Geddy arches an eyebrow. "Who says you're getting any tonight?"

"Have a heart. I almost died last week."

"How long are you going to milk that excuse?"

"Until it stops working," Alex chuckles, because Geddy's already mouthing at his jaw and pushing his hands underneath Alex's shirt.

* * *

_August 27th, 2005_

Alex spends his birthday in the most perfect way he knows how: with Geddy. He forgoes cake and presents and celebrations for spending the day in bed with his husband, giving and receiving orgasms that make both of them shudder.

It's the middle of the afternoon, and Geddy's on the receiving end of a world-class blowjob, if the noises he's making are any indication. His legs are slung over Alex's shoulders, his hand pulled tight in Alex's hair.

"It's s'posed to be your birthday, not mine," he shakes out, his spine arching and bending as Alex's mouth works around him.

Alex just hums, making Geddy squirm and spit out obscenities. He knows Geddy is close; he can tell from the way the breath catches in his throat. So Alex lets Geddy's cock slip free, his tongue gliding down the base, over his balls and to his lube-slickened hole.

Geddy yelps in surprise and tightens his grip on Alex's hair.

"Easy," Alex warns, because he's not convinced his ever-expanding bald spot isn't from Geddy incessantly pulling at his hair during sex.

Geddy obeys, his trembling hand finding purchase around the back of Alex's neck.

Alex licks him open, occasionally flicking his tongue inside and earning a squeal from Geddy. Alex reserves this particular act for special occasions—birthdays, anniversaries, and make-up sex—because he needs something in his repertoire that can make Geddy shriek and sigh like it's their first time all over again. He doles out blowjobs like Halloween candy, and Geddy has come to enjoy (and ask for) Alex's cock inside of him, so this is pretty much all Alex has left on the 'sexual party trick' front.

Geddy sways his hips into Alex's tongue, and it doesn't take long before he's shaking apart and spurting hot white over his stomach. Alex lingers there for a moment, taking in Geddy's breathy gasps and praises.

"I love you," Geddy sighs, his fingers curling in the hair at the base of Alex's neck.

Alex grins against Geddy's inner thigh. "You always say that."

"'Cause it's true." Geddy wriggles when Alex nips at his skin. "Are you sure this is how you wanna spend your birthday? There's still plenty of time to actually do something fun."

"You still haven't learned I have more fun with you than anything?"

"That's kind of sweet. But mostly sad."

Alex happily drags his tongue over the white smears on Geddy's belly, licking him clean. "Not from where I'm standing. Er, kneeling."

Geddy chuckles under his breath and hums contentedly.

Alex's cell phone jitters on the night table.

"Answer that for me, will you?" Alex says, his tongue swirling around Geddy's navel.

Geddy grumbles but does as he's asked. "Hello? ... No, he's here." He sticks the phone in Alex's direction. "Lerxst, it's Neil."

Stunned, Alex takes the phone and climbs onto the edge of the bed. "Neil? Is something wrong?"

"Adrian has informed me that it's your birthday today," Neil says with an edge of nervousness, like he isn't sure he's allowed to talk to Alex after their 'confrontation' a few weeks back.

"That's right. Did you get me a present?"

"That's your husband's job," Neil volleys back with a tiny nervous laugh. "I just wanted to wish you a good one."

"Well, thanks, Neil. That's very kind of you. You guys don't come back to Toronto this season, do you?"

"Not unless the Jays win their division."

Alex snorts. "Not likely. Well, hey, maybe when the season's over, you can come up here and hang out for a day or two, y'know? You can bring your wife and daughter if you want."

Neil is characteristically silent.

"I'm being serious, y'know," Alex says. "There's no reason we can't be friends now. Unless you take issue with my charming, fantastic personality."

Geddy snickers and gently nudges Alex with his foot.

"Maybe I can make some free time in my schedule," Neil says. "It might be a good idea for you to meet Selena. You did save her life, after all."

Alex isn't sure that's true, but he's no stranger to shuffling words around in order to see a negative situation in a positive light. "Pretty sure _you_ did that. There's a reason they named that slide after you."

Neil's infamous second-base slide was dubbed 'pulling a Peart' by sportswriters, who use the term for any slide onto base that injured or almost hurt the baseman.

Neil grumbles. "Thank you for reminding me."

"What are friends for?"

"Friends..." Neil mulls the word over as though he's never heard it before. "I like that."

"Yeah, see? No harm, no foul."

"I'll let you get back to your birthday," Neil says, and Alex can hear the smile there, and he is ecstatic that his kindness has brightened someone's day. "You and Geddy take care."

"Sure thing."

When Alex hangs up, Geddy crawls over to him. "It was nice of you to invite him," he says, curling his fingers around Alex's thigh.

"Why not, y'know? He's felt guilty about what happened for almost twenty years, and now that the blackmailers are out of the picture, Neil and I can be friends." Alex flops onto the mattress, lying on his back. Geddy lies beside him.

"Did you ever get any closer to catching that serial?" Alex wonders.

"Maybe, maybe not. I was just there to advise, since most of the people working those cases were rookies, guys who didn't know anything about the old cases."

"It doesn't bother you that you couldn't solve it?"

Geddy shrugs. "There's always gonna be loose ends in life. Besides, that's not my job anymore. Hasn't been for twelve years. It's a young man's game."

"You seem to be full of stamina," Alex jokes, edging a hand between Geddy's thighs. "What happened to your 'I can't keep up with you' shit?"

"Not on a daily basis." Geddy rolls over and throws a leg over Alex's hips, straddling him. "But for special occasions..." He grinds his ass into Alex's persistent erection. "I don't mind wearing myself out."

Alex licks his lips. "Tease." He lifts his hips into the steady roll of Geddy's own, earning friction through the slide of his cock against Geddy's perfect ass.

"'S'what I do best," Geddy says with a smirk. He places a hand on Alex's chest to steady himself. "Remember when I didn't think I was gay enough to let you fuck me?"

Alex laughs, head dropping back against the mattress. "And look at you now. You might actually be gayer than me."

Geddy just smiles and sways his hips in Alex's lap.

Alex sighs in contentment and thinks, all things considered, that he is the luckiest man in the world.


End file.
